P0CKETI55E^ 


■  ^•- 


iT  of  cal: 

WS  ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


MR.    PUNCH'S   POCKET   fBSEN 


«j         ■      — 


1 


I 


MR.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN 

^  Collection  of 

SOME  OF  THE   MASTER'S  BEST-KNOWN  DRAMAS 

CONDENSED,    REVISED,   AND    SLIGHTLY 

REARRANGED  FOR  THE  BENEFIT 

OF  THE  EARNEST  STUDENT 


BY 
F.    ANSTEY 

Author  of  "  'Vice  Versa,"  "  Voces  Populi,"  etc. 


jXTctvi  |9ork 
MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND     LONDON 
1893 

Alt  risrhts  reserved 


1191U9 


Copyright,  1893, 
P,Y  MACMII.LAN   AND   CO. 


XovtoooD  lOrfSS : 

J.  8.  Cu»liiii«  ik  ('"■  —  Hirwirk  k  Smith. 
Boaton,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


i 


T1R 


PREFATORY    NOTE. 


The  Concluding  Piece,  "  Pill-doctor  Herdal."  is,  as 

the  observant  reader  will  instantly  perceive,  rather  a 

reverent   attempt    to   tread   in   the   footprints    of   the 

,a      Norwegian  dramatist,  than  a  version  of  any  actually 

^  '^      existing  masterpiece.      The  author  is  conscious  that 

his  imitation  is  painfully  lacking  in  the  magnificently 

impenetrable  obscurity  of  the  original,  that  the  vein  of 

^\       allegorical  symbolism   is    thinner  throughout   than   it 

^        should  be,  and  that   the  characters  are  not  nearly  as 

mad  as  persons  invariably  are  in  real  life,  —  but  these 

are  the  faults  inevitable  to   a  'prentice  hand,  and   he 

trusts  that  due  allowances   may  be  made  for  them   by 

the  critical. 

In  conclusion,  he  wishes  to  express  his  acknowledg- 
ments to  Messrs.  Bradbury  &  Agnew  for  their  permis- 
sion to  reprint  the  present  volume,  the  contents  of 
which  made  their  original  appearance  in  the  pages  of 
"  Punch." 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

No.         I.      ROSMERSHOLM -9 

No.     II.     Nora;  or,  the  Bird-Cage        .  -43 

No.   III.     Hedua  Gabler 89 

No.    IV.    The  Wild  Dick/ I39 

Pill-Doctor  Herd.a.l        .        .        .        .        .        •     17^ 


No.  I. 
ROSMERSHOLM 


'Taking  ofT  his  gloves  meaningly." 


No.  I. 
ROSMERSHOLM. 

ACT  I. 

Sitting-room  at  Rosmersh'dlm,  with  a  stove,  flower- 
staiut,  windows,  ancient  and  modern  ancestors, 
doors,  and  everything  hatidsome  about  it.  Re- 
becca West  is  sitting  knitting  a  large  antimacas- 
sar wliich  is  nearly  finished.  Now  and  then  she 
looks  out  of  a  window,  and  smiles  and  nods 
expectantly  to  some  one  outside.  Madam  Hel- 
SETH  is  laying  the  table  for  supper. 

Rebecca  {folding  up  her  work  slo7C'ly) . 
But  tell   me    precisely,  what   about    this   White 

Horse  ?  \^Smiling  quietly. 

II 


12  MK.    /'CXCV/'S  POCKET  IBSEN.        no.  i. 

Madam  Helseth. 

Lord  forgive  you,  Miss  !  —  {fetching  cruet-stand, 
and  placing  it  on  table)  —  but  you're  making  fun  of 
me  ! 

Rebecca  {gravely) . 

No,  indeed.  Nobody  makes  fun  at  Rosmersholm, 
Mr.  Rosnier  would  not  understand  it.  {Sliiitting 
tvindoisj.)  Ah,  here  is  Rector  Kroll.  {Opening 
door.)  You  will  stay  to  supper,  will  you  not,  Rec- 
tor, and  1  will  tell  them  to  give  us  some  little  extra 
dish. 

Kroll  {hanging  up  his  hat  in  the  hall). 

Many  thanks.  ( IVipes  his  boots.)  May  I  come 
in  ?  (  Conies  in,  puts  doion  his  stick,  sits  down,  and 
looks  about  him.)  And  how  do  you  and  Rosnior 
get  on  together,  eh  ? 


ACT  I.  ROSMERSHOLM.  13 

Rebecca. 
Ever  since  your  sister,  Beata,  went  mad  and 
jumped  into  the  mill-race,  we  have  been  as  happy 
as  two  little  birds  together.  {After  a  pause,  sitting 
down  in  arm-chair.)  So  you  don't  really  mind  my 
living  here  all  alone  with  Rosmer  ?  We  were  afraid 
you  might,  perhaps. 

Kroll. 
Why,  how  on  earth  —  on  the  contrary,  I  shouldn't 
object  at  all  if  you —  {looks  at  her  nieaning/y)  h'm  ! 

Rebecca  {interrupting  gravely) . 
For  shame.  Rector ;  how   can   you    make  such 
jokes  ! 

Kroll  {as  if  surprised). 
Jokes?     We    do   not  joke  in  these  parts  —  but 
here  is  Rosmer. 


14  MK.   PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSE/V.        no.  i. 

Enter  RobMEK,  i'<;V///i'  <///</  softly. 

ROSMF.R. 

So,  my  ilcar  oV\  friend,  you  have  conic  again, 
after  a  year's  absence.  {Sits  down.)  We  almost 
thought  that  — 

Kroll  {noits). 
So   Miss  West  was  saying  —  but    you  arc  (juile 
mistaken.     I  merely  thought  I  might  remind  you,  if 
1  came,  of  our  poor  Beata's  suicide,  so  I  kept  away. 
We  Norwegians  are  not  without  our  simple  tact, 

ROSMER. 

It  was  considerate  —  but  unncessary.  Reb  —  I 
mean  Miss  West  and  I  often  allude  to  the  incident, 
do  we  not? 

Rehf.cca  {strikes  TiiiKfstickor). 
Oh,  yes,  indeed.      (//;;//////!,''  lamp.)      Whenever 
we  feel  a  little  more  cheerful  than  usual. 


ACT  I.  ROSAIERSHOLM. 


15 


Kroll. 

You  dear  good  people  !  (  Wanders  up  the  room.') 
I  came  because  the  Spirit  of  Revolt  has  crept  into 
my  School.  A  Secret  Society  has  existed  for  weeks 
in  the  Lower  Third  !  To-day  it  has  come  to  my 
knowledge  that  a  booby-trap  was  prepared  for  me  by 
the  hand  of  my  own  son,  Laurits,  and  I  then  dis- 
covered that  a  hair  has  been  inserted  in  my  cane 
b\-  my  daughter  Hilda  !  The  only  way  in  which  a 
right-minded  Schoolmaster  can  combat  this  anarchic 
and  subversive  spirit  is  to  start  a  newspaper,  and  I 
thought  that  you,  as  a  weak,  credulous,  inexperi- 
enced and  impressionable  kind  of  man,  were  the 
very  person  to  be  the  Editor. 

[Rebecca  laughs  softly,  as  if  to  herself.  Rosmer 
jumps  up  and  sits  do'con  again. 

Rebecca  {with  a  look  at  Rosmer)  . 
Tell  him  now  ! 


i6  MK.    J'i'XC//'S  J'OCK'KT  JBSEN.       Nu.  i. 

RosMER  {refi/rning  the  look). 

I  can't  —  sonic  ullicr  evening.  Well,  perhaps  — 
{^To  Kroi.l.)  I  can't  be  your  lOditor  —  because 
(/-'/  (/  loio  voice)  I  —  1  am  on  the  side  of  l.aurits 
and  Hilda  ! 

Kroll  {looks from  one  to  the  other,  gloomily). 
H'm  ! 

RoSMER. 

''  Yes.  Since  we  last  met,  I  have  changed  my 
views.  I  am  going  to  create  a  new  democracy,  antl 
awaken  it  to  its  true  task  of  making  all  the  people 
of  this  country  noblemen,  by  freeing  their  wills,  and 
purifying  their  minds  ! 

Kkdi.i,. 
What  ilo  you  mean?  \^Takes  up  his  hat. 


ACT  I.  ROSMERSHOLM.  17 

RosMER  {bowing  Ids  head). 

I  don't  quite  know,  my  dear  friend  ;  it  was  Reb 

—  I  should  say,  ]\Oss  West's  scheme. 

Kroll. 

H'm  !     {A  suspicion  appears  in  his  face.)     Now 
I  begin  to  beheve  what  Beata  said  about  schemes 

—  no  matter.     But,  under  the  circumstances,  I  will 
not  stay  to  supper. 

\_Takes  up  his  stick  and  walks  out. 

RosMER. 

I  told  you  he  would  be  annoyed.     I  shall  go  to 
bed  now.     I  don't  want  any  supper. 

\^He  lights  a  candle  and  goes  out ;  presently  his 
footsteps  are  heard  overhead^  as  he  undresses. 
Kebecca  pulls  a  be II- rope. 


i8         MK.  ruxcirs  pocket  in  sen.      n<>.  i. 

Rebfxca   {to    Mauam    1 1  ki.sk  rn,   who  enters   with 

dishes). 

No,  Mr.  Rosmcr  will  not  have  supper  to-night. 
(///  a  lii^hter  tone.)  Perhaps  he  is  afraid  of  the 
nightmare.  There  are  so  many  sorts  of  Wliite 
Horses  in  this  world  ! 

Madam  Helseth  {shaking). 

Lord!  lord!  that  Miss  West  —  the  things  she 
does  say  ! 

[K^\\v.cc\  goes  out  through  t/oor,  knitting  antima- 
cassar thoughtfully,  as  Curtain  falls. 


ACT  II 

Rosmer's  study.  Doors  and  windotvs,  bookshelves, 
a  writi7ig-table.  Doo?;  with  curtain,  leading  to 
Rosmer's  bedroom.  Rosmer  discovered  in  a 
smoking'jacket  cutting  a  pamphlet  tenth  a  paper- 
knife.  There  is  a  knock  at  the  door.  Rosmer 
says,  "Come  in.''  Rebecca  enters  in  a  morning 
wrapper  and  curl-papers.  She  sits  in  a  chair 
close  to  Rosmer,  and  looks  over  his  shoulder  as 
he  cuts  the  leaves.     Rector  Kroll  is  shoiun  up. 

Kroll    {^lays   his   hat  on    the   table  and  looks  at 
Rebecca /rr'w  head  to  foot). 

I  am  really  afraid  that  I  am  in  the  way. 

Rebecca  {surprised) . 

Because  I  am  in  my  morning  wrapper  and  curl- 

19 


20  MR.    rU.\'C//\S  POCKET  IBSEN.        w.  i. 

papers?     Vou  forget  that  1  am  cmaiicipateii.  Rector 
Kroll. 

\^She  leaves  them  and  listens  behind  curtain  in 
Rosmer's  bedroom. 

ROSMER. 

Yes,  Miss    West    and    I    have  worked    our  way 
forward  in  faithful  comradeship. 

Kroll  {shakes  his  head  at  him  shmdy) . 
So  I  perceive.  Miss  West  is  naturally  inclined 
to  be  forward.  But,  I  say,  really  you  know  — 
However,  I  came  to  tell  you  that  poor  Heata  was 
not  so  mad  as  she  looketl,  though  flowers  did 
bewilder  her  so.  (  Takin:^  off  his  gloves  meaningly.) 
She  jumped  into  the  mill-race  because  she  had  an 
idea  that  you  ouglit  to  marry  Miss  Wesi ! 

RoSMER  {Jumps  half  lip  from  his  eh  air). 
IP       Marry  —  Miss   West!    my   good   gracious. 


ACT  ii.  kOSMERSHOLM.  z\ 

KroU  !  I  don't  understand,  it  is  most  incompre- 
hensible. (yLooks  fixedly  before  him.)  How  can 
people —  {looks  at  Jiiin  for  a  mo  me /if.  t/ien  rises) 
Will  you  get  out?  {Still  quiet  and  self-restrained.) 
But  first  tell  me  why  you  never  mentioned  this 
before  ? 

Kroll. 

Why  ?  Because  I  thought  you  were  both  ortho- 
dox, which  made  all  the  difference.  Now  I  know- 
that  you  side  with  Laurits  and  Hilda,  and  mean  to 
make  the  democracy  into  noblemen,  and  accord- 
ingly I  intend  to  make  it  hot  for  you  in  my  paper. 
Good  morning  ! 

\_He  slams  the  door  luith  spite  as  Rebecca  enters 
from  bedroom. 

RosMER  {as  if  surprised). 
You  —  in  my  bedroom  !     You  have  been  listen- 
ing,   dear?     But    you    are   so    emancipated.     Ah, 


22  MR.   PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.        no.  i. 

well  !  so  our  pure  and  beautiful  frienilship  has  been 
misinterpreted,  bespattered !  Just  because  you 
wear  a  morning  wrapi)er,  and  have  lived  liere  alone 
for  a  year,  people  with  coarse  souls  and  ignoble 
eyes  make  unpleasant  remarks  !  l^ut  what  really 
did  (\x\\t  Beata  mad?  Why  did  she  jump  into  the 
mill-race?  I'm  sure  we  did  everything  we  coukl  to 
spare  her  !  I  made  it  the  business  of  my  life  to 
keep  her  in  ignorance  of  all  our  interests  —  didn'f 
I,  now? 

Rf,I!ECCA. 

\\)\\  did — but  why  brood  o\er  it?  What  docs 
it  matter?  (let  on  with  your  great,  beautiful  task, 
dear  {ti/^proachiii;^  him  cautiously  from  /ichiiid), 
winning  over  niinils  and  wills,  and  creating  noble- 
men, you  know — yVn//// noblemen  ! 

RosMKR  {iCHi/kiiii^  ai'oit/,  rcs//css/y,  as  if  in  /hoi/i:;hi). 
Yes,  I  know.     T  liave  never  laughed  in  the  whole 


ACT  II.  ROSMERSHOLM.  23 

course  of  my  life  —  we  Rosmers  don't  —  and  so  I 
felt  that  spreading  gladness  and  light,  and  making 
the  democracy  joyful,  was  properly  my  mission. 
But  /umi  —  I  feel  too  upset  to  go  on,  Rebecca, 
unless —  {Shakes  /lis  head  heavily.)  Yes,  an  idea 
has  just  occurred  to  me —  {looks  at  her,  and  then 
runs  his  lianJs  throngh  his  hair) — oh,  my  good- 
ness, no  —  I  ean't.       \_He  kans  his  elbotvs  on  tabh\ 

Rebecca. 

Be  a  free  man  to  the  full,  Rosmer  —  tell  me  your 
idea. 

Rosmer  {gloomily) . 

I  don't  know  what -you'll  say  to  it.  It's  this. 
Our  platonic  comradeship  was  all  very  well  while  I 
was  peaceful  and  happy.  Now  that  I'm  bothered 
and  badgered,  I  feel  —  7c>/iy,  I  can't  exactly  explain, 
but  I  t/o  feel  that  I  must  oppose  a  new  and  living 


24  Mh'.    PUXC/I'S  rOCk'F.T   //iSEiV.        No.  I. 

reality  to  the  gnawing   memories  of  the  past.     I 

should,  perhaps,  ex[>l;un  that  this  is  ecpiivalent  to  an 
Ibsenian  proposal. 

Rebecca  {catches  at  the  chairback  7oi/hjoy). 

How?  at  hist — a  rise  at  last  !  {Recollects  her- 
self.^ r.ut  what  am  I  about?  Am  I  not  an  eman- 
cipated enigma?  {Puts  her  haiuh  over  her  ears 
as  if  ill  terror.)  W'iiat  are  you  saying?  Vou 
mustn't.  I  can't  think  what  yuu  mean.  Clo  away, 
do! 

ROSMER  {softly). 

I'e  the  new  and  living  reahty.  it  is  the  only 
way  to  put  Beata  out  of  the  Saga.  Shall  we  try 
it? 

Rebecca. 

Never  !  I  )o  not  —  (l(>  not  ask  me  wliy  —  for  I 
haven't  a   notion  —  but    never!      {Nods   slowly  to 


ACT  II.  ROSMERSHOLM.  25 

him  and  rises.)  White  Horses  would  not  induce 
me!  {]Vifh  her  hand  on  door-handle.)  Now 
you  knoiv!  {She  goes  out. 

RosMER  {sits  up,  stares  thunderstruek  at  the  stove, 
and  says  to  himself) . 
\\'ell  —  1  —  am  —  [  Quich  Curtain. 


ACT   III. 

Sitting-room  at  Rosmersholin.  Sun  shining  out- 
side in  the  Garden.  Inside  Rebkcca  West  is 
7vatering  a  geraiiiuni  with  a  snuill  loatering- 
pot.  Her  crochet  antimacassar  lies  in  the  arm- 
chair. Madam  Hki-sivih  is  rubbing  the  chairs 
with  furniture-polish  fro>n  a  large  bottle.  Enter 
ROSMKR,  with  his  hat  and  stick  in  his  hand. 
Madam  Helskiii  c<>rks  the  bottle  anil  goes  out  to 
the  right. 

Rebecca. 

Good  mon1inc,^  dear.      (.-/  moment  after  —  cro- 
cheting.)     Have  you    seen    Rector    Kroll's    paper 

this  morning?     There's  something  ahowi you  in  it. 

26 


ACT  111.  ROSMERSHOLM.  '  27 

ROSMER, 

Oh,  indeed?  {Puts  doivii  liat  and  stick,  and 
takes  up  paper.)  H'ai  !  {Reads  —  then  7c>a/ks 
atiout  the  room.)  Kroll  lias  made  it  hot  for  me. 
{Reads  some  moie.)  Oh,  this  is  too  bad  !  Re- 
becca, they  do  say  such  nasty  spiteful  things  ! 
They  actually  call  me  a  renegade  —  and  I  can't 
think  why  !  They  mustn't  go  on  like  this.  All 
that  is  good  in  human  nature  will  go  to  ruin  if 
they're  allowed  to  attack  an  excellent  man  like 
me  !  Only  think,  if  I  can  make  them  see  how 
unkind  they  have  been  ! 

Rebecca. 

Yes,  dear,  in  that  you  have  a  great  and  glorious 
object  to  attain  —  and  I  wish  you  may  get  it  ! 

RoSMER. 

Thanks.     I    think    I    shall.      {Happens    to    look 


28  J//v.    rC\\c7/'S  I'OCKET  IBSExt.        no.  i. 

//trough  winiioic,  and  jumps.)      Ah,  iio,  I  shan't  — 
never  now.     I  have  just  seen  — 

Rkwkcca. 
Not  the  White    Horse,  dear?     We  must  really 
not  overdo  that  White  Horse  ! 

ROSMER. 

No  —  the  mill-race,  where  Beata  —  {^Puts  on  his 
haf — hikrs  it  off  again.)  I'm  beginning  to  be 
haunted  by  —  no,  I  ^/(^// 7  mean  the  horse  —  by  a 
terrible  suspicion  that  Heata  may  have  been  right 
after  all  !  Ves,  I  do  believe,  now  I  come  to  think 
of  it,  that  1  must  really  have  been  in  love  with  you 
from  the  first.     Tell  mQ  your  opinion. 

Rebecca     {strugg/iug     with      herself,     ami     still 
crocheting) . 
Oh  —  I     can't     exactly     say  —  such     an     odd 
question  to  ask.  me  ! 


ACT.  III.  ROSMEKSJIOLM.  29 

RosMER  {shakes  his  head). 

Perhaps ;  I  have  no  sense  of  humour  —  no  re- 
spectable Norwegian  has  —  and  I  do  want  to 
know  —  because,  you  see,  if  I  was  in  love  with 
you,  it  was  a  sin,  and  if  I  once  convinced  myself  of 
that — -  \_lVaiiders  across  the  room. 

Rebecca  {breaking  out) . 

Oh,  these  old  ancestral  prejudices  !  Here  is 
your  hat,  and  your  stick,  too ;  go  and  take  a  walk. 

[RosMER  takes  hat  and  stick,  first,  then  goes  out 
and  takes  a  walk  ;  presently  Madam  Helseth 
appears,  and  tells  Rebecca  something.  Re- 
becca tells  her  something.  They  whisper 
together.  Madam  H.  7wds,  and  shows  in 
Rector  Kroll,  who  keeps  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  sits  on  a  chair. 


30  MR.    I'UNCirS  rOCKET  IBSEN.       no.  i. 

Kroll, 

I  merely  called  for  the  purpose  of  informing  you 
that  I  consider  you  an  artful  and  designing  person, 
but  that,  on  the  whole,  considering  your  birth  anil 
moral  antecedents,  you  know —  {lunis  at  Jicr)  — 
it  is  not  surprising.  (Rfchfx'CA  walks  about,  icriih^;- 
iiii:;  hci-  Iiaih/s.)  \Viiy,  what  is  the  matter?  I  )id 
you  really  not  know  that  you  had  no  right  to  your 
father's  name?  I'd  no  idea  you  would  mind  my 
mentioning  such  a  trille  ! 

Rebecca  {/freaking  <>i//) . 

1  (/o  mind.  I  am  an  emancipated  enigma,  but 
I  retain  a  few  iiiilc  prejudices  still.  I  (/<>ii'/  like 
owning  to  my  real  age,  ami  I  do  prefer  to  be 
legitimate.  And,  after  your  information  —  of 
which  I  was  ([uite  ignorant,  as  my  mother,  the 
late  Mrs,  Gamvik,  never  oiiee  alluded  to  it  —  I  feel 


ACT  III.  KOSMERSHOLM.  31 

I  must  confess  everything.  Strong-minded  ad- 
vanced women  are  like  that.  Here  is  Rosmer. 
(RosMER  enters  with  his  hat  ami  stick.)  Rosmer, 
I  want  to  tell  you  and  Rector  Kroll  a  little  story. 
Let  us  sit  down,  dear,  all  three  of  us.  {^They 
sit  down,  mechauicallx,  on  chairs.)  A  long  time 
ago,  before  the  play  began —  (///  a  voice  scarcely 
atidible)  —  in  Ibsenite  dramas,  all  the  interesting 
things  somehow  do  happen  before  the  play  be- 
gins— 

Rosmer. 

But,  Rebecca,  I  know  all  this.  Kroll  —  {looks 
hard  at  her).     Perhaps  I  had  better  go? 

Rebecca. 

No  —  I  will  be  short  —  this  was  it.  I  wanted 
to  take  my  share  in  the  life  of  the  New  Era,  and 
march  onward  with  Rosmer.  There  was  one  dis- 
mal, insurmountable   barrier  —  {to    Rosmer,   who 


32  MR.  ruxcirs  pocket  IBSEX.      no.  I. 

nods  gravely)  —  Beata  !  I  understood  where  your 
deliverance  lay  —  and  I  acted.  /  drove  Beata  into 
the  mill-race.  .   .  .     There  ! 

ROSMER  {after  a  short  si/t'iiie). 
H'm  !     Well,   Kroll  —  {takes   ///  /lis  hat)  —  if 
you're  thinking  of  walking  home,  I'll  go  too.     I'm 
going  to  be  orthodox  once  more  —  after  tliis  ! 

Kroll  {severely  a lul  impressively,  to  Rki'.f.cca). 

A  nice  sort  of  young  woman  iv//  are  ! 

\_Botli  go  out  hastily,  without  looking  at  Rebecca. 

Rebecca  {speaks  to  herself,  under  her  breath). 

Now,  I  hive  done  it.  I  wonder  ivhy.  {Pulls 
hell-rope.)  Madam  Ili-l>elh,  1  have  just  had  a 
glimpse  of  two  rushing  \\'hile  Horses.  Bring 
down  my  hair-trunk. 

[flutter  Madam  11.,  loith  large  hair-trunk,  as 
Curtain  Jails, 


ACT  IV. 

Late  evefiing.  Rebecca  West  stands  by  a  lighted 
lamp,  with  a  shade  over  it,  packing  sandwiches, 
<5^c.,  ill  a  reticule,  with  a  faint  smile.  The 
antimacassar  is  on  the  sofa.     Enter  Rosmer. 

RosMER  {seeing  the  sandwiches,  c^-v.). 

Sandwiches?     Then  you  are  going!     Why,  on 

earth,  —  I  can' t  understand  ! 

Rebecca. 

Dear,    you    never    can.     Rosmershohii    is    too 

much    for    me.     But    liow    did    you    get    on    with 

KroU? 

33 


34  ^fl^-    PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.       no.  i. 

ROSMER. 

We  have  made  it  up.  He  has  convinced  me 
that  the  work  of  ennobhng  men  was  several  sizes 
too  large  for  me  —  so  I  am  going  to  let  it  alone  — 

Rebkcca  {ivith  her  faint  smile'). 
There  I  almost  think,  tlcar,  that  you  arc  wise. 

RoSMF.R  {as  if  annoyed). 
What,  so  you  don't  believe   in   me   either,  Re- 
becca —  you  never  diii .'       \_Sits  listlessly  on  ehair. 

Rebecca. 

Not  much,  dear,  when  you  are  left  to  yourself — 
l)ut  I've  another  confession  to  make. 

RosMER. 
What,  anoilirr  /     I   really  can't  stand  any  more 
confessions  just  now  ! 


ACT  IV.  ROSMERSHOLM.  35 

Rebecca  {sitting  close  to  him') . 

It  is  only  a  little  one.  I  bullied  Beata  into  the 
mill-race  —  because  of  a  wild  uncontrollable  — 
(RoSMER  moves  tineasily.)  Sit  still,  dear — un- 
controllable fancy  —  for  you  ! 

RosMER  {goes  and  sits  on  sofa) . 

Oh,  my  goodness,  Rebecca  —  you  mustn't,  you 
know  ! 

\^He  jumps  up  and  down  as  if  embarrassed. 

Rebecca. 

Don't  be  alarmed,  dear,  it  is  all  over  now. 
After  living  alone  with  you  in  solitude,  when  you 
showed  me  all  your  thoughts  without  reserve,  — 
litde  by  little,  somehow  the  fancy  passed  off.  I 
caught  the  Rosmer  view  of  life  badly,  and  dulness 
descended  on  my  soul  as  an  extinguisher  upon  one 


36  MK.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.        no.  i. 

of  our  Northern  dips.  The  Rosmcr  view  of  life  is 
ennobling,  very  —  but  hardly  lively.  And  I've 
more  yet  to  tell  you. 

RosMER  {fiinn'ng  it  off). 


Isn't  that  enough  for  one  evening? 


Rrbixca  {a /most  vo/crA'ss). 
No,  dear.     I  have  a  Past  —  behind  me  ! 

RoSMER. 

Bc/i i n </  yow?  I  low  strange.  I  had  an  idea  of 
that  sort  already.  {Starts,  as  if  in  f en r.)  A  joke  ! 
(Sat//r.)  Ah,  no  —  fn^,  I  must  not  give  way  to 
t//at .'  Never  mind  the  Past,  Rebecca;  I  once 
thought  that  I  had  made  the  grand  discovery  that, 
if  one  is  only  virtuous,  one  will  he  ha])py.  I  see 
now  it  was  too  daring,  too  original  —  an  immature 
dream.     What  bothers  me  is  that  I  can't  —  some- 


.^^z>. 


"  I  have  a  Past  —  behind  me  !  " 


ACT  IV.  ROSMERSHOLM.  39 

how  I  can't — believe  entirely  in  you  —  I  am  not 
even  sure  that  I  have  ennobled  you  so  very  much 
—  isn't  it  terrible? 

Rebecca  {tv/-inging  her  hands). 
Oh,  this  killing  doubt  !      i^Looks  darkly  at  him.) 
Is  there  anything  /can  do  to  convince  you? 

RosMER  {as  if  impelled  to  speak  against  his  7oill) . 

Yes,  one  thing  —  only  I'm  afraid  you  wouldn't 
see  it  in  the  same  light.  And  yet  I  must  mention 
it.  It  is  like  this.  I  want  to  recover  faith  in  my 
mission,  in  my  power  to  ennoble  human  souls. 
And,  as  a  logical  thinker,  this  I  cannot  do  now, 
unless  —  well,  unless  you  jump  into  the  mill-race, 
too,  like  Beata  ! 

Rebecca    {takes   up  her  antimacassar,  zvith  com- 
posure, and  puts  it  on  her  head) . 
Anything  to  oblige  you. 


ll9l!)H 


40  MR.  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.       no.  i. 

RosMER  {springs  up) . 
What?     \'ou    really    ivill .'     Voii    are    sure   you 
don't   mind?     Then,   Rebecca,   I   will  go   further. 
I  will  even  go  —  yes  — as  for  as  you  go  yourself  ! 

Rkhecca  {bo-iL's  lie r  head  tinvarth  his  iueas/). 

Vou  will   see  nie  off?     Thanks.     Now  you   are 
indeed  an  Ibsenite.       \_Smi/rs  almost  imperceptibly. 

RosMER  {cautiously). 

I  said  as  for  as  iw/  go.     I  don't  commit  ntyself 
further  than  that.     Shall  we  go? 

Rebecca. 

First  tell  nic  this.     Are  you  going  with  me,  or 
am  /gcjing  \\\\\\  you  ? 

Rosmer. 
A  subtle  i)sychological  jjoini  —  but  we  have  not 


ACT  IV,  ROSMERSHOLM.  41 

time  to  think  it  out  here.     We  will  discuss  it  as 

we  go  along.     Come  ! 

[RosMER  takes  his  hat  and  stick,  Rebecca  Jier 
reticule,  loifh  sandwiches.  They  ^j;o  out  hand- 
in-hand  /Iirough  the  dcnv,  ivJiicJi  tJiex  leave 
open.  The  room  (as  is  not  uncommon  %i<ith 
rooms  in  Norway)  is  left  empty.  Then 
Madam  Helseth  enters  through  another  door. 

Madam  Helseth. 

The  cab,  Miss  —  not  here  !  (Looks  out.')  Out 
together — at  this  time  of  night  —  upon  my — not 
on  the  garden-seat?  [Looks  out  of  windo^v.)  My 
goodness  !  what  is  that  white  thing  on  the  bridge 
—  the  ^<7ri-^  at  last  !  (Shrieks  aloud.)  And  those 
two  sinful  creatures  running  home  ! 

Enter  Rosmer  and  Rebecca,  out  of  breath. 


42  MR.  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.       no.  i. 

RoSMER  {scarcely  able  to  get  the  jcuyrds  out). 
It's  no  use,  Rebecca  —  we  must  ]>ut  it  off  till 
another  evening.  We  can't  be  expected  to  juini) 
off  a  footbridge  which  already  has  a  White  Horse 
on  it.  And,  if  it  comes  to  that,  why  should  we 
jump  at  all?  1  know  now  that  I  really  have  en- 
nobled you,  which  was  all  /  wanted.  What  would 
be  the  good  of  recovering  faith  in  my  mission  at 
the  bottom  of  a  null-pond?  No,  Rebecca —  {/ays 
his  hand  on  her  luad)  —there  is  no  judge  over 
us,  and  therefore  — 

REnF.cc.\  ( /// terrupt'nig gravely) . 
We  will  bintl  ourselves  over  in  our  own  recog- 
nisances  to   come   up   for   judgment   when    called 
upon. 

[.Madam  IIelseth  holds  on  to  a  chair-hack. 
Rebecca  finishes  the  antimacassar  calmly  as 
cnrtain  /<//A. 


No.    II. 
NORA;    OR,    THE    BIRD-CAGE 

(Et  Dikkisvoet). 


"  Boo ! " 


No.  II. 
NORA;     OR,    THE    BIRD-CAGE 

{Et   Dikkisvdet). 

ACT   I. 

A  Room  tastefully  filled  with  cheap  Art-funiitiire. 
Gimcracks  in  an  etagcre ;  a  festoon  of  chenille 
monkeys  hanging  from  the  gaselier.  Japanese 
fans,  skeletons,  cotton-tvool  spiders,  frogs,  and 
lizards,  scattered  everywhere  about.  Drain-pipes 
with  tall  dyed  grasses.  A  porcelain  stove  deco- 
rated with  transferable  pictures.  Showily-bound 
books  in  book-case.  lVindo7v.  The  I'isi tors'  bell 
rings  in  the  hall  outside.      The  hall-door  is  heard 

to   open,    and  then    to    shut.      Presently    Nora 

45 


46  J//v'.    nWC/Z'S  POCKET  IBSEN,      no.  u. 

■walks  in  ^uitJi  parcels  ;  a  Porter  carries  a  large 
Christmas-tree  after  lie r — whicli  lie  puts  dmvn. 
Nora  gives  liini  a  shilling — and  he  goes  out 
grumbling.  Nora  hu)ns  contentedly,  and  eats 
macaroons.  Then  Hki.mek  puts  his  head  out  of 
his  Manager's  room,  and  Nora  hides  macaroons 
cautiously. 

1 1  i:l.m i:k   {playfully ) . 

Is  that   my  liillc   squirrel   twittering  —  that   my 
lark  frisking  in  here  ? 

Nora. 

Ess!     {To  her^el/.)      I  have  only  been  married 
eight  years,  so  these   marital  amenities  have  not 

yet  IkkI  time  to  pall  ! 

\l  Ki.M  i:r    ( titreatening  ivitli  his  finger) . 

I  hope  the  lilllr  bird  has  surely  not  been  dig- 
ging its  beak  into  any  macaroons,  eh? 


ACT  I.        NORA;    OR,    THE  BIRD-CAGE.  47 

Nora   {bolting  one,  and  wiping  Iicr  nwutJi). 

No,  most  certainly  not.  {To  herself.)  The 
worst  of  being  so  babyish  is  —  one  does  have  to 
tell  such  a  lot  of  taradiddles!  {To  H.)  See 
what /'ve  bought  —  it's  been  such  fun!     \_Hiniis. 

Helmer   ( inspecting  parcels) . 

H'm — rather  an  cApensit'e  little  lark! 

\_Talces  lie r playfully  by  the  ear. 

Nora. 

Little  birds  like  to  have  a  flutter  occasionally. 

Which  reminds  me —  {Plays  with  his  coat-buttons.') 

I'm    such  a  simple   ickle  sing  —  but   if  you    are 

thinking  of  giving  me  a  Christmas  present,  make 

it  cash  ! 

Helmer. 

Just  like  your  poor  father,  he  always  asked  me 


48  MR.    PUXCirS  rOCKET  JBSEX.      Nn.  ii. 

to  make   it   cash — he  never   made   any  himself! 
It's  heredity,   I  suppose.     Well! — well! 

\^G(n-s    bach    to    his    Baiih.        Nora    goes    on 
humming. 

Enter  Mrs.  Lindkn  {(toubtfully). 
Nora. 
What,  Christina —  why,  how  old  you  look  !  I'.ut 
then  you  are  poor.  I'm  not.  Torvald  has  just 
been  made  a  Inink  Manager,  {lidics  the  room.) 
Isn't  it  really  wonderfully  delicious  to  be  well  off? 
l)Ut,  of  course,  you  wouldn't  know,  lie  were  ])oor 
once,  and,  do  you  know,  when  Torvald  was  ill.  1 
—  {tossing  her  head)  —  though  I  am  such  a  frivo- 
lous little  squirrel,  and  all  that,  I  actually  borrowed 
^300  for  him  to  go  abroad.  Wasn't  that  clever? 
Tra-lada  !  I  shan't  it'll  you  wlio  lent  it.  I  didn't 
even  tell  Torvald.  I  am  su(  h  a  mere  baby  I 
don't  tell  him  everything.      1  tell  1  )r.  Kank,  though. 


ACT  I.  NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE.  49 

Oh,  I'm  so  awfully  happy  I  should  like  to  shout, 
"  Dash  it  all  !  " 

Mrs.  Linden  {stroking  her  hair). 

Do  —  it  is  a  natural  and,  innocent  outburst  — 
you  are  such  a  child  !  But  I  am  a  widow,  and 
want  employment.  Do  you  think  your  husband 
could  find  me  a  place  as  clerk  in  his  Bank? 
{Proudly.)     I  am  an  excellent  knitter  ! 

Nora. 

That  would  really  be  awfully  funny.  {To  Hel- 
MER,  ivlio  enters.)  Torvald,  this  is  Christina;  she 
wants  to  be  a  clerk  in  your  Bank  —  do  let  her! 
She  thinks  such  a  lot  of  you.  {To  herself.)  An- 
other taradiddle  ! 

Helmer. 
She  is  a  sensible  woman,  and  deserves  encourage- 


so  MR.   PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN,      no.  ii. 

mont.     Come  along,   Mrs.   Linden,  and  we'll   see 

what  wo  ran  (K)  for  you. 

\_Hc  j^iH's  out  /hroii_i:;h  tlic  hall  7C'ifh  Mrs.  L., 
a/ul  tJie  front  door  is  heard  to  slam  after 
them. 

Nora  {opens  door,  and  ealls). 
Now,  I'jnniy,  I\ar,  and  liob  come  in  and  have  a 
roinp  with  Mamma  —  we  will  play  hide-and-seuk. 
{She  gets  under  the  table,  smiling  in  ijiiiet  satisfae- 
tion  ;  Kr()(;.siai)  enters  —  Nora /rv/z/^v-.f  ont  upon 
liini.)  Hoc  !  .  .  .  Oh,  I  beg  your  partlon.  I 
don't  do  this  kind  of  thing  generally  —  though  I 
may  l)e  a  little  silly  ! 

Kro(  ;s  r a  i  >  (  politely) . 
l)nirt  mention  it.     1  called  because  I  hajiiicncd 
to   see  your  husband  go  out  with   .Mrs.  Linden  — 
from  which,  being  a  person  of  considerable  pene- 
tration, I    infer   that   he  is   al)out    to   give  her  my 


ACT  I.         NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE,  51 

post  at  the  Bank.  Now,  as  you  owe  me  the  bal- 
ance of  ^300,  for  which  I  hold  your  acknowledg- 
ment, you  will  see  the  propriety  of  putting  a  stop 
to  this  little  game  at  once. 

Nora. 

But  I  don't  at  all  — not  a  little  wee  bit  !  I'm 
so  childish,  you  know — why  shoi/M  I? 

\_Sitting  upright  on  carpet 

Krogstad. 

I  will  try  to  make  it  plain  to  the  meanest  capac- 
ity. When  you  came  to  me  for  the  loan,  I  natu- 
rally required  some  additional  security.  Your 
father,  being  a  shady  Government  official,  without 
a  penny  —  for,  if  he  had  possessed  one,  he  would, 
presumably,  have  left  it  to  you  —  without  a  penny, 
then,   I,  as  a  cautious    man    of  business,    insisted 


52  MR.  PUXCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.       no.  ii. 

u[)on   having   his  signature  as   a  surety.     Oh,   we 
Norwegians  are  sharp  fellows  ! 

Nora. 
Well,  you  ^^/ Papa's  signature,  didn't  you? 

Krogstad. 
Oh,  I  ,i,v'/  it  right  enough.     Unfortunately,  it  was 
dated  three  days  after  his  decease  —  now,  how  do 
you  account  for  tliat? 

Nora. 

How?  Why,  as  poor  Papa  was  dead,  and 
couldn't  sign,  I  signed  /'/•  him,  that's  all  !  Only 
somehow  I  forgot  to  ])ut  the  date  back.  That's 
how.  Didn't  I  A// you  I  was  a  silly,  unbusinesslike 
little  thing?     It's  very  simple. 

Krogstad. 
Very — but  what  you   did    amounts  to   forgery. 


ACT  I.         NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE.  53 

notwithstanding.  1  happen  to  know,  because  I'm 
a  lawyer,  and  have  done  a  httle  in  the  forging  way 
myself.  So,  to  come  to  the  point  —  if /get  kicked 
out,  I  shall  not  go  alone  !     [//<?  bows,  and  goes  out. 

Nora. 

it  can't  be  wrong  !  Why,  no  one  but  Krogstad 
would  have  been  taken  in  by  it  !  If  the  Law  says 
it's  wrong,  the  Law's  a  goose  —  a  bigger  goose 
than  poor  little  me  even  !  ( To  Helmer,  who 
enters.)      Oh,  Torvald,  how  you  made  me  jump  ! 

Helmer. 

Has  anybody  called?  (Nora  shakes  he;-  head.) 
Oh,  my  little  squirrel  mustn't  tell  naughty  whoppers  ! 
Why,  I  just  met  tliat  fellow  Krogstad  in  the  hall. 
He's  been  asking  you  to  get  me  to  take  him  back 
—  now,  hasn't  he? 


54  -'/A'.  PUXC/I'S  POCKET  IB  SEA'.       no.  n, 

NoKA  {7C>a//aiii^  ahoiif). 
Do  just  see  how  pretty  the  Christmas-tree  looks  ! 

Helmer. 

Never  mind  the  tree  —  I  want  to  have  this  out 
about  Krogstad.  I  can't  take  him  back,  because 
many  years  ago  he  forged  a  name.  As  a  lawyer, 
a  close  observer  of  human  nature,  and  a  Bank 
Manager,  I  have  remarked  that  people  who  forge 
names  seldom  or  never  confide  the  fut  to  their 
children  —  which  inevitably  brings  moral  contagion 
into  the  entire  flimily.  ["rum  which  it  follows, 
logically,  that  Krogstad  has  been  poisoning  his 
children  for  years  by  acting  a  part,  and  is  morally 
lost.  {S/>r/ihcs  out  his  ha  fids  to  ht-r.)  I  can't 
bear  a  morally  lost  IJank-cashier  about  me  ! 

Nora. 
IJut  you  never  thought   of  dismissing    him    till 
Christina  came  ! 


ACT  I.        NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE.  55 

Helmer. 

H'm  !  I've  got  some  business  to  attend  to  —  so 
good-bye,  little  lark  ! 

[  Goes  into  office  and  shuts  door. 

Nora  {^pale  with  terror') . 

If  Krogstad  poisons  his  children  because  he  once 
forged  a  name,  I  must  be  poisoning  Emmy,  and 
Bob,  and  Ivar,  because  /  forged  Papa's  signature  ! 
iyShort pause  ;  site  raises  her  head p?-oud/y.)  After 
all,  if  I  am  a  doll,  I  can  still  draw  a  logical  induc- 
tion !  I  mustn't  play  with  the  children  any  more  — 
(hot/v)  —  I  don't  care  —  I  sha//,  though  !  Who 
cares  for  Krogstad? 

[She  makes  a  face,  choking  7vith  suppressed  tears, 
as  Curtain  fails. 


^ 


ACT    II. 

The  Room,  with  the  cheap  Art-furnitinr  as  before 
—  except  that  the  candles  on  the  Christmas-tree 
have  guttered  dimni  and  appear  to  have  been 
lately  bloicn  out.  The  cotton-wool  frogs  and 
the  chenille  monkeys  are  disarranged,  and  there 
are  7oalhing  things  on  the  sofa.     Nora  alone. 

Nora  {putting  on  a  cloak  and  taking  it  off  again). 

Bother  Krogstad  1     There,  I  won't  think  "of  him. 

I'll  only  think  of  the  costume  ball  at  Consul  Sten- 

borg's  over-head,  to-night,  where  I   am  to  dance 

the  Tarantella  all  alone,  dressed  as  a  Capri  fisher- 

girl.     It  struck  Torvald  that,  as  I  am  a  matron  with 

three  children,  my  performance  might  amuse  the 

Consul's  guests,  and,  at  the  same  time,  increase  his 

56 


ACT  II.        NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE.  57 

connection  at  the  Bank.  Torvald  is  so  practical. 
i^To  Mrs.  Linden,  who  comes  in  with  a  large  card- 
hoard  I'ox.)  Ah,  Christina,  so  you  have  brought 
in  my  old  costume?  Would  you  mind,  as  my 
husband's  new  Cashier,  just  doing  up  the  trimming 
for  me? 

Mrs.  Linden. 

Not  at  all  —  is  it  not  part  of  my  regular  duties? 
{Se7ving.)  Don't  you  think,  Nora,  that  you  see  a 
little  too  much  of  Dr.  Rank? 

Nora. 

Oh,  I  couldn't  see  too  much  of  Dr.  Rank  1  He 
is  so  amusing  —  always  talking  about  his  com- 
plaints, and  heredity,  and  all  sorts  of  indescribably 
funny  things.     Go  away  now,  dear  ;  I  hear  Torvald. 

[Mrs.  Linden  goes.  Enter  Torvald  from  the 
Manager's  room.    Nora  runs  trippingly  to  him. 


58  MA'.  /'i'.VL7/\S  POCKET  f/iSE.V.       no.  ii. 

Nora  {coaxinif). 
Oh,  Torvald,  if  only  you  won't  dismiss  Krogstad, 
you   can't   think   how  your  little   lark  would  jump 
about  and  twitter  ! 

Helmer. 

The  inducement  would  be  stronger  but  for  the 
fact  that,  as  it  is,  the  little  lark  is  generally  engaged 
in  that  particular  occupation.  And  I  really  i/iits/ 
get  rid  of  Krogstad.  If  1  didn't,  people  would 
say  I  was  under  the  thumb  of  my  little  squirrel 
here,  and  then  Krogstad  and  I  knew  each  other 
in  early  youth  ;  and  when  two  people  knew  each  otiier 
in  early  youth  —  {a  s/iorf  pause)  —  h'm  !  Besitles, 
he  7i'///  address  me  as,  "  I  say,  Torvald"  —  which 
causes  me  most  painful  emotion  !  Me  is  tactless, 
dishonest,  fiiniliar.  ;iiid  morallv  ruined — altogether 
not  at  all  the  kind  of  j^erson  to  be  a  Cashier  in  a 
Uank  like  mine. 


ACT  II.       NORA;    OR,    THE  BIRD-CAGE.  59 

Nora. 

But  he  writes  in  scurrilous  papers,  —  he  is  on  the 
staff  of  the  Norwegian  Punch.  If  you  dismiss  him, 
he  may  write  nasty  things  about  you,  as  wicked 
people  did  about  poor  dear  Papa  ! 

Helmer. 

Your  poor  dear  Papa  was  not  impeccable  —  far 
from  it.  I  am  —  which  makes  all  the  difference. 
I  have  here  a  letter  giving  Krogstad  the  sack. 
One  of  the  conveniences  of  living  close  to  the 
Bank  is,  that  I  can  use  the  housemaids  as  Bank- 
messengers.  {Goes  to  door  and  calls.)  Ellen! 
{Enfer  parlourmaid.)  Take  that  letter  —  there 
is  no  answer.  {¥jIA.v.'S  takes  it  and  !^ocs.)  That's 
settled  —  so  now,  Nora,  as  I  am  going  to  my 
private  room,  it  will  be  a  capital  opportunity  for 


6o  J/A'.   /'L'XC7/'S  POCKET  IBSEN.       no.  ii. 

you    to    practise    the    tambourine  —  thump    away, 
Uttle  lark,  the  doors  are  double  ! 

\_A\>(/s  to  her  a)ui  i::;ocs  in,  shiiftiiig  door. 

NoR.\  {stroking  Iter  face) . 

How  din  I  to  get  out  of  this  mess  !  {.i  ring  at 
the  Visitors'  MI.)  Dr.  Rank's  ring!  //<?  shall 
help  me  out  uf  it  !  (Dr.  Rank  oppears  in  door- 
way, hanging  up  his  greatcoat.)  Dear  Dr.  Rank, 
how  are  you?  \_Takes  both  his  hands. 

Rank  {sitting  down  near  the  sto7'e). 

I  am  a  miserable,  hypochondriacal  wretch  — 
that's  what  /  am.  And  why  am  I  doomed  to  be 
dismal?  Why?  Because  my  father  died  of  a  fit 
of  the  blues  !     /s  that  fair  —  I  put  it  to  rou  / 

NOR.'V. 

Do  try  to  be  funnier  than  that.^    See,  I  will  show 


"  A  poor  fellow  with  hotli  feet  in  tlic  ^'ravc  is  imt  the  best  authority 
on  the  lit  of  silk  stockings." 


ACT  II.        NORA;    0A\    THE  BIRD-CAGE.  63 

you  the  flesh-coloured  silk  tights  that  I  am  to  wear 
to-night  —  it  will  cheer  you  up.  But  you  must 
only  look  at  the  feet  —  well,  you  may  look  at  the 
rest  if  you're  good.  Aren't  they  lovely?  Will 
they  fit  me,  do  you  think? 

Rank  {g/ooi/iify). 

A  poor  fellow  with  both  feet  in  the  grave  is  not 
the  best  authority  on  the  fit  of  silk  stockings.  I 
shall  be  food  for  worms  before  long  —  I  know  I 
shall ! 

Nora. 

You  mustn't  really  be  so  frivolous  !  Take  that  ! 
{She  hits  him  lightly  on  the  ear  zoith  the  stockings  ; 
then  hums  a  little.)  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  great 
service,  Dr.  Rank.  {Rolling  up  stockings.)  I 
always  liked  you.     I  love  Torvald  most,  of  course 


64  -l/A'.   /'r.VC//'S  POCKET  /BSF.X.       n...  n. 

—  but,  somehow,   \\\  rather  spend   my  lime  with 
you  —  you  ufc  so  amusing  ! 

Rank. 

If  I  am,  can't  you  guess  why?  {A  short sikncc.) 
Because  I  love  you  !  Vou  can't  pretend  you  didn't 
know  it  ! 

Nora. 

Perhaps  not  —  but  it  was  really  too  clumsy  of 
you  to  mention  it  just  as  I  was  about  to  ask  a 
favour  of  you  !  It  was  in  the  worst  taste  !  (  Jl'i/h 
tiigiiify.)  Vou  must  not  imagine  because  I  joke 
with  you  about  silk  storkinjj;s,  and  tell  voii  things  I 
never  tell  '{"oiNalil,  that  1  am  therefore  without  the 
most  delicate  and  scrupulous  self-respect  !  1  am 
really  (juite  a  good  little  doll,  Dr.  Rank,  and  now  — 
{si/s  ill  rocking-cliair  aiui  smiles) — now  I  shan't 
ask  you  what  I  was  going  to! 

[I''i  r.FN'  comes  in  with  a  card. 


ACT  II.        NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE.  65 

Nora  {terrified). 
Oh,  my  goodness  !  \Puts  it  in  her  pocket. 

Dr.  Rank. 

Excuse  my  easy  Norwegian  pleasantry  —  but  — 
h'm  —  anything  disagreeable  up  ? 

Nora  {to  herself). 

Krogstad's  card  !  I  must  tell  another  whopper  ! 
{To  Rank.)  No,  nothing,  only  —  only  my  new 
costume.  I  want  to  try  it  on  here.  I  always  do 
try  on  my  dresses  in  the  drawing-room  —  it's 
cosier,  you  know.  So  go  in  to  Torvald  and  amuse 
him  till  I'm  ready. 

[Rank  goes  into  Helmer's  room,  and  Nora  bolts 
the  door  upon  him,  as  Krogstad  enters  from 
hall,  in  a  fur  cap. 


66  J/A'.  rrXC//\S  POCKET  IBSEN.      no.  ii. 

Krogstad. 

Well,  I've  got  the  sack,  and  so  I  came  to  see 

how  \oH  arc  getting  on.  1  mayn't  be  a  nice  man, 
but — {7i<ith  feeling)  —  I  have  a  heart!  And,  as 
I  don't  intend  to  give  up  the  forged  I.O.U.  unless 
I'm  taken  l)ack,  I  was  afraid  you  might  be  contem- 
plating suicide,  or  something  of  that  kind  ;  and  so 
I  (ailed  to  tell  you  tliat,  if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't. 
Bad  thing  for  the  complexion,  suicide,  and  silly, 
too,  because  it  wouldn't  mend  nuUters  in  the  least. 
{Kiiullv.)  Vou  must  not  take  this  affair  too  seri- 
ously, Mrs.  Helmer.  Get  your  husband  to  settle 
it  amicably  by  taking  me  back  as  Cashier ;  then  I 
shall  soon  get  the  whip-hand  of  him,  and  we  shall 
all  be  as  pleasant  and  comfortable  as  possible 
together  1 


ACT  II.        NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE.  67 

NoR.\. 
Not  even  that  prospect  can  tempt  me  !    Besides, 
Torvald  wouldn't  have  you  back  at  any  price  now  ! 

*  Krogstad. 

All  right,  then.  I  have  here  a  letter,  telling 
your  husband  all.  I  will  take  the  liberty  of  drop- 
ping it  in  the  letter-box  at  your  hall-door  as  I  go 
out.     I'll  wish  you  good  evening  ! 

\^He  goes  out ;  presently  the  dull  sound  of  a  thick 
letter  dropping  into  a  zuire  box  is  heard. 

Nora  {softly,  and  hoarsely^. 

He's  done  it  !  How  am  I  to  prevent  Torvald 
from  seeing  it? 

Helmer  {inside  the  door,  rattling') . 
Hasn't  my  lark  changed  its  dress  yet?     (Nor.a 
unbolts  door.)      \\'hat  —  so   you   are   not  in   fancy 


68  MR.  PUNCirS   POCKET  IBSEN.      no.  II. 

costume,   after   all?     {Eii/fis   witli    Rank.)     Are 
there  any  letters  for  nic  in  the  box  there? 

Nora  ij'oicekssly). 
None  —  not  even  a  postcard  !  Oh,  Torvald, 
don't,  please,  go  and  look  — proinisc  me  you  won't  ! 
I  do  assi/re  you  there  isn't  a  letter  !  And  I've 
forgotten  the  Tarantella  you  taught  me  —  <lo  let's 
run  over  it.  I'm  so  afraid  of  breaking  down  — 
promise  me  not  to  look  at  the  letter-box.  I  can't 
dance  unless  you  do. 

Helmkr  {shini/itigs/il/,  on  /iis  7C'<?r  /o  the  letter-box). 

T  am  a  man  of  strict  business  habits,  and  some 
powers  of  observation  ;  my  little  squirrel's  assur- 
ances that  there  is  nothing  in  the  box,  combined 
with  her  obvious  anxiety  that  I  should  not  go  and 
see  for  myself,  satisfy  me  that  it  is  indeed  empty, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  1  have  not  invariably  found 


ACTii.        NORA;    OR,    THE  BIRD-CAGE.  69 

her  a  strictly  truthful  little  dicky-bird.  There  — 
there.  {Sits  down  to  piano.)  Bang  away  on  your 
tambourine,  little  squirrel  —  dance  away,  my  own 
lark  ! 

•>.         Nora  {dancins^,  with  a  long  gay  shawf). 

Just  loond  the  little  squirrel  !  Faster  —  faster  ! 
Oh,  I  do  feel  so  gay  !  We  will  have  some  cham- 
pagne for  dinner,  roon'twe,  Torvald? 

\^Z)ani'^s  witJi  more  and  more  abaiuhuiincnt. 

Helmer  {after  addressing  fregi/e)it  remarks  ifi 
correction). 

Come,  come  —  not  this  awful  wildness  !  I  don't 
like  to  see  quite  such  a  larky  little  lark  as  this  .  .  . 
Really  it  is  time  you  stopped  ! 

N0R.A.  {her  hair  coming  down  as  she  dances  more 
wildly  still,  and  sivings  the  tamkourinc). 
I    can't  ...     I    can't  !       {To    herself   as    she 


70  J//v'.  PrXC//\S   POCKET  IBSEN.      no.  h. 

dances.)  I've  only  thirty-one  hours  left  to  be  a 
bird  in  ;  and  after  that  —  {s/i//</i/cn/i/)  — after  //u?/, 
Krogstad  will  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  ! 


ACT   III. 

The  same  Room  — -  except  that  the  sofa  has  been 
sliglitly  moi'ed,  and  one  of  the  Japanese  cotton- 
wool frogs  has  fa  Hen  into  the  fire-phce.  Mrs. 
Linden  sits  and  reads  a  hook  —  but  without 
understanding  a  single  line. 

Mrs.  Linden  {laying  down  book,  as  a  light  tread  is 

heard  outside) . 

Here  he  is  at   last!    (Krogstad   comes  in,  and 

stands   ill    the    door7i'ay.)      Mr.    Krogstad,    I   have 

given  you  a  secret  rendezvous  in  this  room,  because 

it  belongs  to  my  employer,   Mr.  Helmer,  who  has 

lately  discharged  you.     The  etiquette  of  Norway 

permits  these  slight   freedoms   on    the    part    of  a 

female  Cashier. 

71 


72  A/A\  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.      no.  iI. 

Krohstad. 

It  does.  Arc  we  alone?  {'Ho\t.k  is  heard  ore r- 
heaii  dancing  tlic  Tarantella.)  Yes,  I  hear  Mrs. 
Helmer's  fairy  footfoll  above.  She  dances  the  Tar- 
antella now  —  by-and-by  she  will  dance  to  another 
tune  !  {Changini^r  /,/j-  /o„t\)  I  don't  exactlv  know 
why  you  should  wish  to  have  this  interview  —  after 
jilting  me  as  you  did,  long  ago,  though? 

Mrs.  Linden. 
Don't  you?  /do.  T  am  a  widow  —  a  Norwe- 
gian widow.  And  it  it  has  occurred  to  me  that 
there  may  be  a  nobler  side  to  your  nature  some- 
where —  though  you  have  not  precisely  the  best  of 
reputations. 

Krogstad. 
Right.     I  am  a  forger,  and  a  money-lender  ;  1 
am  on  the  staff  of  the  Norwegian  Punch— ;x  most 


ACT  III.        NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE.  73 

scurrilous  paper.  More^  I  have  been  blackmailing 
Mrs.  Helmer  by  trading  on  her  fears  like  a  low 
cowardly  cur.  But,  in  spite  of  all  that  —  (ciasfiiig 
/lis  hands) — there  are  the  makings  of  a  fine  man 
about  me  ycf,  Christina  ! 

Mrs.  Linden. 

I  believe  you  —  at  least,  I'll  chance  it.  I  want 
some  one  to  care  for,  and  I'll  marry  you  ! 

Krogstad  {suspiciously') . 

On  condition,  I  suppose,  that  I  suppress  the 
letter  denouncing  Mrs.   Helmer? 

Mrs.  Linden. 

How  can  you  think  so?  I  am  her  dearest  friend  ; 
but  I  can  still  see  her  faults,  and  it  is  my  firm 
opinion  that  a  sharp  lesson  will  do  her  all  the  good 
in  the  world.     She  is  u/uc/i  too  comfortable.     So 


74  MR-  PUXCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.       no.  ii, 

leave  the  letter  in  the  box,  and  come  home  with 
me. 

Krogstad. 

I  am  wildly  ha])py  !  I'^ngaged  to  the  female 
Cashier  of  the  Manager  who  has  discharged  me, 
our  future  is  bright  and  secure  ! 

[//f  f^oes  out;  and  Mrs.  Linden  sets  the  funii- 
iure  strai^Jit ;  presently  a  noise  is  heard  out- 
side, a /I  it  IIk.lmer  enters,  dragging  Nora  in. 
She  is  in  fancy  dress,  and  he  in  an  open  Idack 
domino. 

Nora. 

I  shan't  !  It's  too  early  to  come  away  from  such 
a  nice  party.     1  won't  go  to  bed  !     \^She  ivhimpers. 

Hki.mkr  {tender/y). 

There'sh  a  naughty  lil'  larkie  for  you,  Mrs.  Linen  ! 
Poshtively  had  to  drag  her  'way  !     She'sh  a  capri- 


"Oh,  you  prillil  S(iuillikins  !  " 


ACTlii.       NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE.  77 

cious  lil'  girl  —  from  Capri.  'Scuse  me  !  —  'fraid 
I've  been  and  made  a  pun.  Shan'  'cur  again  ! 
Shplendid  champagne  the  Consul  gave  us  —  'counts 
for  it !  (^Sits  ihmni,  si/u7iiig.)  Do  you  knit,  Mrs. 
Cotton?  ...  You  shouldn't.  Never  knit.  'Broider. 
(^Nodding  to  her,  solemnly.)  'Member  that.  Al- 
waysh  'broider.  More  —  {hiecoughing) — Oriental  ! 
Gobblesh  you  !  —  goo'ni  ! 

Mrs.  Linden. 

I  only  came  in  to — to  see  Nora's  costume. 
Now  I've  seen  it,  I'll  go.  \_Goes  out. 

Heoier. 

Awful  bore  that  woman  —  hate  boresh  I  {^Looks 
at  Nora,  then  comes  nearer.)  Oh,  you  prillil  squil- 
likins,  I  do  love  you  so  !  Shomehow,  I  feel  sho 
liv^ely  thishevenin'  ! 


78  il/A'.  rUXCf/'S  POCKET  IBSEN.       Nu.  ii. 

Nora  {i^ofs  to  other  xiifr  of  tabic). 
I  won't  have  all  that,  Torvald  ! 

Hl'.I.MKR. 

Why?  ain't  you  in\  HI'  lark — ain't  thish  our  ill' 
cage?  Ver-7iv//,  then.  yA  ring.)  Rank  I  con- 
found it  all  1  {I'.ntrr  Dk.  Rank.)  Rank,  dear  old 
boy,  you've  been  {hiccoughs)  going  it  ui)stairs. 
Cap'tal  champagne,  eh?  \Sha inci  oi  yow,  Rank  ! 
[//<?  sits  doivn  on  so/a,  and  closes  his  eyes  gently. 

Rank. 

Did  you  notice  it?  {with  (^riclc)  It  was  almost 
incredible  the  amount  1  contrived  t(j  put  away. 
P.ut  I  shall  suffer  for  it  to-morrow  {gloomily). 
Heredity  again  !     I  wish  I  was  dead  !     I  do. 

Nora. 
Don't  apologise.     Torvald  was  just  as  bad  ;  but 
he  is  always  so  good-tempered  after  champagne. 


ACT  HI.       NORA;    OR,    THE  BIRD-CAGE.  79 

Rank. 

Ah,  well,  I  just  looked  in  to  say  that  I  haven't 
long  to  live.  Don't  weep  for  me,  Mrs.  Helmer,  it's 
chronic  —  and  hereditary  too.  Here  are  my  P.P.C. 
cards.  I'm  a  fading  flower.  Can  you  oblige  me 
with  a  cigar? 

Nora  {ivith  a  suppressed  smik) . 
Certainly.     Let  me  give  you  a  light  ? 
[Rank  lights  his  cigar,   after  several  ineffectual 
attempts,  and  goes  out. 

Helmer  (^compassionately) . 
Poo'  old  Rank  —  he'sh  very  bad  to-ni'  !  {Pulls 
himself  together.)  But  I  forgot  —  Bishness  —  I 
mean,  bu-si-ness  —  mush  be  'tended  to.  I'll  go 
and  see  if  there  are  any  letters.  {Goes  to  box.) 
Hallo  !  someone's  been  at  the  lock  with  a  hairpin 
—  it's  one  o( your  hairpins  !    \_Holding  it  out  to  her. 


8o  MR.  I'UNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN,      no.  ii. 

Nora  (qiiick/y) . 

Not  mine  —  one  of  Bub's,  or  Ivar's — "they  both 
wear  hairpins  ! 

HiiLMER  (fiiniin^^  over  letters  absently'). 

You  niusi  break  them  of  it  —  bad  habit  !  What 
a  lot  o'  lettersh  !  double  usual  (juantity.  ( Opens 
Krogstad's.)  By  Jove  !  (^Reads  it  and  falls  back 
completely  sobered.)  \\'hat  have  you  got  to  say  to 
this  ? 

Nora  {crying  aloud). 

You  shan't  save  me  —  let  me  go!  I  won't  be 
saved  ! 

Hei,mf,r. 

Save  you,  indeed  !  Who's  going  to  save  Me  ? 
You    miserable    little  criminal.     {Annoyed.)     Ugh 

—  ugh! 


ACT  III.       NORA;    OR,    THE  BIRD-CAGE.  8i 

Nora  {luith  hardejiiug  expression). 

Indeed,  Torvald,  your  singing-bird  acted  for  the 

best  ! 

Helmer. 

Singing-bird  !  Your  father  was  a  rook  —  and 
you  take  a/fer  him.  Heredity  again  !  You  have 
utterly  destroyed  my  happiness.  {JValks  round 
several  times.)  Just  as  I  was  beginning  to  get  on, 
too  ! 

Nora. 

I  have  —  but  I  will  go  away  and  jump  into  the 
water. 

Helmer. 

What  good  will  that  do  me  ?  People  will  say  / 
had  a  hand  in  this  business  {Intterlx).  If  you  must 
forge,  you  might  at  least  put  your  dates  in  cor- 
rectly !     But   you  never   iiad  any  principle  !     (^4 


82  MR.    I'UXi'll'S   rOCKE'r  JBSEX.      .NM.  II. 

ring.)     The  front-door  bell  !      {A  fat  letter  is  seen 

to  fall  into  the  box  ;  Hei.mlk  takes  it,  opens  it,  sees 

enclosure,  ami  embraces   Nora.)      Krogstad   won't 

split.     See,  he  returns  the  forged  I.O.U.  !     Oli.  my 

poor  httle  lark,  what  you  must  have  gone  through  ! 

Come  under  my  wing,  my  little  scared  song-bird 

.  .  .     Eh?   you  iL'on't.'     NN'hy,   what's  the   matter 

now  ? 

NoR.A  {7oith  cold  calm). 

I  have  wings  of  my  own,  thank  you,  Torvald, 
and  I  mean  to  use  them  ! 

Helmer. 

What  —  leave  your  pretty  cage,  and  {patheti- 
cally) the  old  cock  bird,  and  the  poor  little  inno- 
cent eggs  ! 

NOR.A. 

Exactly.  Sit  down,  and  we  will  talk  it  over  first. 
{Slowly.)      lias  it  ever  struck  you  that  this  is  the 


ACT  III.       NORA;    OR,    THE   BIRD-CAGE.  83 

first  time   you   and    I    have   ever   talked    seriously 
together  about  serious  things? 

Helmer. 
Come,  I  do  like  that  !     How  on  earth  could  we 
talk   about   serious    things   when    your   mouth   was 
always  full  of  macaroons? 

Nora  {shakes  her  head). 
Ah,  Torvald,  the  mouth  of  a  mother  of  a  family 
should  have  more  solemn  things  in  it  than  maca- 
roons !  I  see  that  now,  too  late.  No,  you  have 
wronged  me.  So  did  Papa.  Both  of  you  called 
me  a  doll,  and  a  squirrel,  and  a  lark  !  You  might 
have  made  something  of  me  —  and  instead  of  that, 
you  went  and  made  too   much   of  me  —  oh,  you 

did/ 

Helmer. 

Well,  you  didn't  seem  to  object  to  it,  and  really 

I  don't  exactly  see  what  it  is  you  do  want  ! 


84  ^'/A'.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.       no.  ii. 

Nora. 
No  more  do  I  —  that  is  what  I  have  got  to  find 
out.  If  I  had  been  properly  educated,  I  should 
have  known  better  than  to  date  i)oor  Papa's  signa- 
ture three  days  after  he  died.  Now  I  must  educate 
myself.  I  have  to  gain  experience,  and  get  clear 
about  religion,  and  law,  and  things,  and  whether 
Society  is  right  or  I  am  —  and  I  must  go  away  and 
never  come  back  any  more  till  I  am  educated  ! 

Helmer. 

Then  you  may  be  away  some  little  time?  .And 
what's  to  become  of  me  and  the  eggs  meanwhile? 

NOR.'X. 

That,  Torvald,  is  entirely  your  own  affair.  I 
have  a  higher  duty  than  that  toward  you  and  the 
eggs.  {Lookiiis;  solemnly  itfnvanl.)  1  mean  my 
dul)    towards  Myself ! 


ACT  III.      NORA;    OR,    THE  BIRD-CAGE.  85 

Helmer. 

And  all  this  because  —  in  a  momentary  annoy- 
ance at  finding  myself  in  the  power  of  a  discharged 
Cashier  who  calls  me  "  I  say  Torvald,"  I  expressed 
myself  with  ultra-Gilbertian  frankness  !     You  talk 

like  a  silly  child  ! 

Nora. 

Because   my  eyes   are    opened,  and    I    see    my 

position  with  the  eyes  of  Ibsen.     I  must  go  away 

at  once,  and  begin  to  educate  myself. 

Helmer. 
May  I  ask  how  you  are  going  to  set  about  it? 

Nora. 
Certainly.     I    shall    begin  —  yes,    I    shall   begin 
with  a  course  of  the  NorAvegian  theatres.     \i  that 
doesn't  take  the  frivolity  out  of  me,  I  don't  really 
know  what  will ! 

\_She  gets  her  bonnet  and  ties  if  tightly. 


86  MR.  PUX(7/\S  POCKET  IBSEN.       no.  ii. 

Helmer. 

Then  you  are  really  going?     And   you'll  never 

think    about    me    and    the    eggs    any    more!     Oh, 

Nora  ! 

Nora. 

Indeed,  I  shall,  occasionally  —  as  strangers.  {She 
puts  on  a  shaivl  sadly,  an  J  fetches  her  (tressing- 
hag.)  If  I  ever  do  come  back,  the  greatest  mir- 
acle of  all  will  have  to  ha|)i)en.     (lood-bye  ! 

\^She  goes  out  tliroiigh  the  hall ;  the  front-door  is 
heard  to  hang  loudly. 

Helmer  {sinking  on  a  ehair). 
The  room  em})ty?  Then  she  must  be  gone! 
Yes,  my  little  lark  has  flown  !  {The  dull  sound  of 
an  unskilled  latchkey  is  heard  trying  the  lock; 
presently  the  door  opens,  and  Nora,  with  a  some- 
what foolish  expression,  reappears.)  What?  back 
already  !     Then  you  are  educated  ? 


ACT  III.       A'OEA  :    OR,    THE  BIRD-CAGE.  87 

Nora  [puts  donni  dressing-bag). 
No,  Torvald,  not  yet.  Only,  you  see,  I  found  I 
had  only  threepence-halfpenny  in  my  purse,  and 
the  Norwegian  theatres  are  all  closed  at  this  hour 
—  and  so  I  thought  I  wouldn't  leave  the  cage  till 
to-morrow  —  after  breakfast. 

Helmer  {^as  if  to  himself). 
The  greatest  miracle  of  all  Jias  happened.     My 
little  bird  is  not  in  the  bush  fust  yet  ! 

[Nora  fakes  doiun  a  siunuily  bound  dictionary 
from  flie  shelf  and  begins  her  education  ; 
Heuier  fetches  a  bag  of  macaroons,  sits  near 
her,  and  teftders  one  humb/y.  A  pause.  Nora 
repulses  it,  proudly.  He  offers  it  again.  She 
snatches  at  it  suddenly,  still  without  looking 
at  him,  and  nibbles  it  thoughtfully  as  Curtain 
falls. 

THE    END. 


No.  III. 
HEDDA    GABLER 


"  I  am  a  gay  Norwegian  dog." 


No.    III. 
HEDDA    GABLER. 

ACT   I. 

Scene  —  A  Sitting- room  cheerfully  decorated  in 
dark  colours.  Broad  doorway,  hung  with  black 
crape,  in  the  wall  at  back,  leading  to  a  back 
Drawing-room,  in  which,  above  a  sofa  in  black 
horsehair,  hangs  a  posthumous  portrait  of  the 
late  General  Gabler.  On  the  piano  is  a  hand- 
some pall.  Through  the  glass  panes  of  the  back 
Drawing-room  window  are  seen  a  dead  wall 
and  a  cemetery.  Settees,  sofas,  chairs,  qt^c, 
handsomely  upholstered  in  black  bombazine,  and 

studded  with    small  round  nails.     Bouquets  of 

91 


92  MR.   PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.      no.  ui. 

imiitortcUes  and  licixd  i:^rasscs   arc   lying  every- 
where about. 

Enter  Aunt   Julie    (<?  good-natured  looking  lady 
in  a  smart  hat). 

Aunt  Jiiie. 

Well,  I  declare,  if  I  believe  George  or  HetUla 
are  up  yet  !  {/inter  George  Tesmax,  hiinnning, 
stout,  careless,  spectacled^  Ah,  my  dear  boy,  I 
have  called  before  breakfast  to  iiKiuire  how  you 
and  Hedda  are  after  returning  late  last  night  from 
your  long  honeymoon.  Oh,  dear  me,  yes ;  am  I 
not  your  okl  Aunt,  and  are  not  these  attentions 
usual  in  Norway? 

George. 

Good  Lord,  yes  !  My  six  months'  honeymoon 
has  been  quite  a  little  travelling  scholarship,  ch  ? 
I  have  been  examining  archives.     Think  of ///<?// 


ACT  I.  HEDDA    G ABLER.  93 

Look  here,  I'm  going  to  write  a  book  all  about  the 
domestic  interests  of  the  Cave-dwellers  during  the 
Deluge.  I'm  a  clever  young  Norwegian  man  of 
letters,  eh? 

Aunt  Tllte. 
Fancy    your   knowing    about    that    too  !      Now, 
dear  me,  thank  Heaven  ! 

George. 

Let  me,  as  a  dutiful  Norwegian  nephew,  untie 
that  smart,  showy  hat  of  yours.  ( Unties  it,  and 
pats  her  under  the  chin.)  Well,  to  be  sure,  you 
have  got  yourself  really  up,  —  fancy  that  ! 

\_He pnts  hat  on  chair  dose  to  table. 

Aunt  Julie  {giggling). 
It  was  for   Hedda's  sake  —  to  go  out  walking 
with  her  in.      (Hedda  approaches  from   the  back- 
room ;  she  is  pallid,  with  cold,  open,  steel-grey  eyes  ; 


94  -l//v'.    rUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.      N".  iii. 

her  hair  is  not  rrry  thiik,  but  ivliat  their  is  of  it  is 
an  agreeable  medium  broicii.)      Ah,  dear  Ilcdda  ! 

\_She  attempts  to  cuddle  her. 

Hedda  {^shriiihiiii;  back). 

Ugh,  let  me  go,  do  !  {Looking  at  Aunt  Julie's 
hat.)  Tesman,  you  must  really  tell  the  house- 
maid not  to  leave  her  old  hat  about  on  the  draw- 
ing-room chairs.  Oh,  is  it  your  hat?  Sorry  I 
spoke,  I'm  sure  ! 

Aunt  Jui.ie  {annoyed). 

Good  gracious,  little  Mrs.  Hedda  ;  my  nice  new 
hat  that  I  bought  to  go  out  walking  with  you  in  ! 

Gkorce  {patting  her  on  the  back). 

Yes,  Hedda,  she  did,  and  the  parasol  too! 
Kancy,  Aunt  Julie  always  positively  thinks  of  every- 
thing, eh? 


ACT  I.  HEDDA    G ABLER.  95 

Hedda  {^coldly). 

You  hold  your  tongue.     Catch    me   going   out 

walking   with   your   aunt  !     One  doesn't    do   such 

things. 

George  {beaming). 

Isn't  she  a  charming  woman  ?     Such  fascinating 
manners  !     My  goodness,  eh  ?     Fancy  that ! 

Au?rr  Julie. 
Ah,  dear  George,  you  ought  indeed  to  be  happy 
—  but  {brings  out  a  flat  f-ackage  wrapped  in  news- 
paper) look  here,  my  dear  boy  ! 

George  {opens  it). 
What?  my  dear  old  morning  shoes  !  mv  slippers  ! 
{Breaks  down.)  This  is  positively  too  touching, 
Hedda,  eh?  Do  you  remember  how  badly  I 
wantetl  them  all  the  honeymoon?  Come  and  just 
have  a  look  at  them  —  vou  max  ! 


/ 


96  J/A'.   PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  iii. 

Hedda. 

I'.other  your  old  slippers  and  your  old  aunt  too! 
(Aunt  Jui.iK.{,w.f  oKf  annoyrti,  folhnocd  by  George, 
still  thanking  her  7oaniily  /or  the  slippers;  lli:i>ii.\ 
yawns ;  CiKORra',  eomes  hack  and  /'lares  his  old 
slippers  reverently  on  the  tahle.)  Why,  here  comes 
Mrs.  Elvsted  —  another  early  caller  !  She  had 
irritating  hair,  and  went  about  niakint,'  a  sensation 
with  it  —  an  old  flame  of  yours,  I've  heard. 

\_Enter  Mrs.  Ei.vsted  ;  she  is  pretty  and  i^^entle, 
ivith  eopions  ivavv  white-gold  hair  and  round 
prominent  exes,  and  the  manner  of  a  frightened 
rabbit. 

Mrs.  Elvstead  {nemoi/s). 

Oh,  i)leasc,  I'm  so  perfectly  in  despair.  I'ljlert 
Lovborg,  you  know,  who  was  our  Tutor ;  he's 
written  such  a  large  new  book.     I    inspired  him. 


ACT  I.  HEDDA    G ABLER.  97 

Oh,  I  know  I  don't  look  like  it  —  but  I  did  —  he 
told  me  so.  And,  good  gracious,  now  he's  in  this 
dangerous  wicked  town  all  alone,  and  he's  a  re- 
formed character,  and  I'm  so  frightened  about 
him ;  so,  as  the  wife  of  a  Sheriff  twenty  years 
older  than  me,  I  came  up  to  look  after  Mr. 
Lovborg.  Do  ask  him  here  —  then  I  can  meet 
him.  You  will?  How  perfectly  lovely  of  you  ! 
My  husband's  so  fond  of  him  ! 

Hedda. 

George,  go  and  write  an  invitation  at  once ;  do 
you  hear?  (George  looks  around  for  his  slippers, 
takes  /hei/i  up  and  goes  outi)  Now  we  can  talk, 
my  little  Thea.  Do  you  remember  how  I  used 
to  pull  your  hair  when  we  met  on  the  stairs,  and 
say  I  would  scorch  it  off?  Seeing  people  with 
copious  hair  always  does  irritate  me. 


98  iJ/A'.   PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  hi. 

Mrs.  Elvsted, 

Goodness,  yes,  you  were  always  so  playful  ami 
friendly,  and  I  was  so  afraid  of  you.  I  am  still. 
And  please,  I've  riui  away  from  my  husband. 
Everything  around  him  was  distasteful  to  me. 
And  Mr.  Lovborg  and  1  were  comrades  —  he  was 
dissipated,  and  I  got  a  sort  of  power  over  him,  and 
he  made  a  real  person  out  of  me  —  which  I  wasn't 
before,  you  know ;  but,  oh,  I  do  hope  I'm  real 
now.  He  talked  to  me  and  taught  me  to  think  — 
chiefly  of  him.  So,  when  Mr.  Lovborg  came  here, 
naturally  I  came  too.  There  was  nothing  else  to 
do  1  And  fancy,  there  is  another  woman  whose 
shadow  still  stands  between  him  and  me  !  She 
wanted  to  shoot  him  onrc,  and  so,  of  course,  he 
can  never  forget  her.  I  wish  1  knew  her  name  — 
perhaps  it  was  that  red-haired  opera-singer? 


ACT  I.  HEDDA    GABLER.  99 

Hedda  (z^vV//  co/(/  self-command). 

Very  likely — -but  nobody  does  that  sort  of  thing 
here.  Hush  !  Run  away  now.  Here  comes  Tes- 
mr.n  with  Judge  Brack.  (Mrs.  Elvsted  goes  oui ; 
George  comes  in  with  Judge  Brack,  who  is  a  short 
and  elastic  gentleman,  with  a  round  face,  care- 
fully brushed  Jiair,  and  distinguished  profile.) 
How  awfully  funny  you  do  look  by  daylight, 
Judge  ! 

Br.\ck    {holding    his    hat  and  dropping  his   eye- 
glass) . 

Sincerest  thanks.  Still  the  same  graceful  man- 
ners, dear  little  Mrs.  Hed  —  Tesman  !  I  came  to 
invite  dear  Tesman  to  a  little  bachelor-party  to 
celebrate  his  return  from  his  long  honeymoon.  It 
is  customary  in  Scandinavian  society.  It  will  be  a 
lively  affair,  for  I  am  a  gay  Norwegian  dog. 


lOO         MR.  rvNcirs  rocKi/r  IBSEN.      n...  m. 

George. 
Asked  out  — without  my  wife  !     Think  of  that  ! 
Eh?     Oil,  clear  me,  yes,  7  11  come! 

Brack. 
By  the  way,  Lovborg  is  here  ;  he  has  written  a 
wonderful  book,  which  has  made  a  ([uile  extraor- 
dinary sensation.     Bless  mc,  yes  ! 

George. 
Lovborg  —  fancy  !  Well,  I  avi  —  glad.  Such 
marvellous  gifts  !  And  1  was  so  painfully  certain 
he  had  gone  to  the  bad.  Fancy  that,  eh  !  B.ut 
what  will  become  of  him  lunv,  poor  fellow,  eh? 
I  am  so  anxious  to  know  ! 

Brack. 

Well,  he  may  possibly  put  up  for  the  Professor- 
ship against  you,  and,  though  you  arc  an  uncom- 


ACT  I.  HEDDA    G ABLER.  loi 

monly  clever  man  of  letters  —  for  a  Norwegian  — 
it's  not  wholly  improbable  that  he  may  cut  you 
out ! 

George. 

*  But,  look  here,  good  Lord,  Judge  Brack  !  — 
{gesticulating)  —  that  would  show  an  incredible 
want  of  consideration  for  me  !  I  married  on  my 
chance  of  gcttiug  that  Professorship.  A  man  like 
Lovborg,  too,  who  hasn't  even  been  respectable, 
eh?     One  doesn't  do  such  things  as  that! 

Brack. 

Really?  You  forget  we  are  all  realistic  and 
unconventional  persons  here,  and  do  all  kinds  of 
odd  things.     But  don't  worry  yourself! 

\_He  goes  out. 

George  {to  Heddci). 
Oh,   I    say,   Hedda,   what's    to    become    of  our 


I02  MK.  J'iWCJrs  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  mi. 

Fairyland  now,  ch?  We  can't  have  a  liveried 
servant,  or  give  dinner-parties,  or  have  a  horse 
for  riding.      Fancy  that  ! 

HF':r)i)A  {slowly,  and  icearilv). 

No,  we   shall  really  have   to  set  up  as   Fairies 

in  reduced  circumstances,  now. 

Ci FORCE  {c/urrini:;  i/p). 

Still,  we  shall  see  Aunt  Julie  every  day,  and  l/uit 
will  be  sonicthiuLC,  and  r\'e  got  back  my  old 
shippers.  We  shan't  be  altogether  without  some 
amusements,  eh? 

Hedda  (^crosses  the  Jloor). 

Not  while  I  have  oiw  thing  to  amuse  myself 
witii,  at  all  events. 


ACT  I.  IJEDDA    G ABLER.  103 

George  {l)eaming  ivith  joy) . 

Oh,  Heaven  be  praised  and  thanked  for  that  ! 
My  goodness,  so  you  have  !  And  what  may  tJiat 
be,   Hedda,  eh? 

Hedda   ((?/  tlie   doonuay,  with  suppressed  seoni). 

Yes,  George,  you  have  the  old  sHppers  of  the 
attentive  Aunt,  and  I  have  the  horse-pistols  of 
the  deceased  General  ! 

George  (///  an  ai^v//y). 
The  pistols  !     Oh,  my  goodness  !  za/iaf  pistols  ? 

Hedda  (7C'if/i  eold  eyes). 

General  Gabler's  pistols  —  same  which  I  shot  — 
{recfll/eefing  herself)  —  no,  that's  Thackeray,  not 
Ibsen  —  a  very  different  person. 

\_She  goes  throi/gh  the  baek  Drawing-roo/n. 


104  .1/A'.  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSF.X.     no.  iir. 

George  {at  tioonoay,  shouting  after  her). 

Dearest  Hedda,  not  those  dangerous  things,  eh? 
Why,  they  have  never  once  been  known  to  shoot 
straight  yet!  Don't!  Have  a  catapult.  Vox  my 
sake,  have  a  catapult!  \_Curtain. 


ACT   II. 

Scene —  The  cheerful  dark  Drawing-room.  It  is 
afternoon.  Hedda  stands  loading  a  revolver  in 
the  hack  Dra^uing-roofn. 

Hedda  {looking  out,  and  shouting). 

How  do  you  do,  Judge  ?    {Aims  at  him.)    Mind 
yourself !  \_She  fires. 

Brack  {entering). 

What  the  devil  !     Do  you  usually  take  pot-shots 
at  casual  visitors?  \_Annoyed. 

Hedda. 

Invariably,  when  they  come  by  the  back-garden. 
It  is  my  unconventional  way  of  intimating  that  I 


io6  MK.  J'iWCJ/'S  POCKET  IBSEN,      no.  hi. 

am  at  home.  One  does  do  these  things  in  realistic 
dramas,  you  know.  And  I  was  only  aiming  at  the 
blue  sky. 

Brack. 
Which   accounts   for    the  condition   of  my  hat. 
( Exhil)iti)ii;  it. )      T .ook  here  —  riihilcii ! 

Hkdda. 

Couldn't  help  myself.  I  am  so  horribly  bored 
with  Tesman.  I'A'erlastingly  to  be  with  a  jirofes- 
sioiial  person  ! 

l^RACK  {^sympathetically) . 
Our   excellent  Tesman    is   certainly   a  bit   of  a 
bore.      {Looks  S(Ui/r/ti/ii^/y  at  lie r.)      What  on  earlli 
made  you  marry  him  ? 

TIi:nr>\. 
Tired  of  dancing,  my  dear,  that's  all.     \x\'\  then 


ACT  II.  HEDDA    GABLEK.  107 

I  used  Tesman  to  take  me  home  from  parties ; 
and  we  saw  this  villa ;  and  I  said  I  liked  it,  and 
so  did  he ;  and  so  we  found  some  common  ground, 
and  here  we  are,  do  you  see  !  And  I  loathe  Tes- 
man, and  I  don't  even  like  the  villa  now ;  and  I 
do  feel  the  want  of  an  entertaining  companion  so  ! 

Brack. 

Try  me.  Just  the  kind  of  three-cornered  ar- 
rangement that  I  like.  Let  me  be  the  third  person 
in  the  compartment — {coiifidoitially)  —  the  tried 
friend,  and,  generally  speaking,  cock  of  the  walk  ! 

Hedda  {audibly  drauniig  in  Jier  hreatli). 

I  cannot  resist  your  polished  way  of  putting 
things.  We  will  conclude  a  triple  alliance.  But 
hush  !  —  here  comes  Tesman. 

\_Enter  George,  with  a  number  of  bo.oks  under 
/lis  ami. 


io8  MR.  Pi:vCJ/\S  POCKET  IBSEN,      no.  iii. 

Georce. 

I'uff!  I  am  hot,  llcdila.  I've  Ijecn  looking 
into  I,()\l)or^'s  new  book.  Wonderfully  thoughtful 
—  confound  him!  But  1  must  go  and  dress  for 
your  party,  Judge.  \_JJf  goes  ouL 

Hedda. 
I  wish   I  could  get  Tesman  to  take  to  politics, 
Judge.     Couldn't    he    be    a   Cabinet   Minister,   or 

something? 

Brack. 
H'm  ! 

\_A  short  pause ;  hotli  look  at  one  another,  7vith- 

oiit  speaking.    Enter  George,  in  evening  dress, 

with  gloves. 

George. 

It  is  afternoon,  and   your  jiarty   is   at   half-past 

seven  —  but    I    like    to  dress  early.     Fancy  that! 

And   I   am  expecting  Lovborg. 


ACT  11.  HEDDA    GABLER.  109 

[EjLERT  LoVRORG  comcs  in  from  tJie  hall ;  he  is 
zvorn  and  pale,  7c>ith  red  patches  on  his  cheek- 
bones, and  7vears  an  elegant  perfectly  new 
visiting-suit,  and  black  gloves. 

George. 

Welcome  !  (Introduces  him  to  Brack.)  Listen 
—  I  have  got  your  new  book,  but  I  haven't  read 
it  through  yet. 

LOVBORG. 

You  needn't  —  it's  rubbish.  {Takes  a  packet  of 
MSS.  out.)  This  isn't.  It's  in  three  parts;  the 
first  about  the  civihsing  forces  of  the  future,  the 
second  about  the  future  of  the  civihsing  forces, 
and  the  third  about  the  forces  of  the  future  civil- 
isation. I  thought  I'd  read  you  a  little  of  it  this 
evening  ? 


no  -l/A'.  /'L:\'l7/'S  pocket  IBSEN,     nu.  mi. 

Brack  ami  George  {Jiastily). 
Awfully  nice  of  you  —  but  there's  a  little  party 
this    evening  —  so    sorry   we    can't    stop  !     Won't 
you  come  too? 

Hedda, 
No,  he  must  stop  and  read  it  to  me  and  Mrs. 
Elvsted  instead. 

(il'.OKCE. 

It  would  never  h;\ve  occurred  to  me  to  think  of 
such  clever  things  !  Are  you  going  to  oppose  me 
for  the  I'rofessorshii),  eh? 

I  .()\Bi  )KG  {  ///('(/<■  jV/v)  . 
No;  I  shall  onh  triumph  over  you  in  the  popu- 
lar judgment  —  that's  all  ! 

CiKORGP:. 

Oh,  is  that  all?  Fancy!  Let  us  go  into  the 
back,  drawing-room  and  drink  cold  punch. 


ACT  II.  HEDDA    G ABLER.  iii 

LOVBORG. 
Thanks  —  but  I  am  a  reformed  character,  and 
have  renounced  cold  punch  —  it  is  poison. 

[George  and  Brack  go  into  the  back-i-oom  and 
drink  punch,  lohilst  Hedda  shows  Lovborg  a 
photograph  album  in  the  front. 

Lovborg  (^shncly,  in  a  hnv  tone). 
Hedda  Gabler  !  how  could  you  throw  yourself 

away  like  this  ! Oh,  is  tiiat  the  Ortler  Group? 

Beautiful  ! Have  you  forgotten  how  we   used 

to  sit  on  the  settee  together  behind  an  illustrated 

paper,    and  —  yes,    very   picturesque   peaks 1 

told  you  all  about  how  I  had  been  on  the  loose? 

Hedda. 
Now,  none  of  that,  here  !     These  are  the  Dolo- 
mites.—  Yes,  I  remember;  it  was  a  beautiful  fas- 
cinating Norwegian  intimacy  —  but  it's  over  now. 


112  MR.  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.     NO.  III. 

See,  we  spent  a  night  in  that  little  mountain  village, 
Tesman  and  I  ! 

LOVBORG. 

Did  \o\\,  indeed?  Do  you  remember  that  de- 
licious moment  when  you  threatened  to  shoot  me 
down — {ti'iiiicr/y) — I  do  ! 

Hf.diu  {cair/rssly'). 

Did  1  ?  1  have  done  that  to  so  many  people. 
But  now  all  that  is  passed,  and  you  have  found  the 
loveliest  consolation  in  dear,  good,  little  Mrs.  Klv- 
sted— ah,  here  she  is!  {Enter  Mrs.  Elvsted.) 
Now,  Thea,  sit  down  and  drink  up  a  good  glass  of 
cold  punch.  Mr.  Lovborg  is  going  to  have  some. 
If  you  don't,  Mr.  Lovborg,  George  and  tiie  Judge 
will  think  you  arc  afraid  of  taking  too  much  if  you 
once  begin. 


ACT  II.  HEDDA    G ABLER,  113 

Mrs.  Elvsted. 

Oh,  please,  Hedda  !  ^Vhen  I've  inspired  Mr. 
Lovborg  so  —  good  gracious  !  don't  make  him 
drink  cold  punch  ! 

Hedda. 

You  see,  Mr.  Lovborg,  our  dear  little  friend 
can't  trust  you  ! 

Lovborg. 

So  that  is  my  comrade's  faith  in  me  !  {Gloom- 
ily.) /'ll  show  her  if  I  am  to  be  trusted  or  not. 
i^He  drinks  a  glass  of  punch.)  Now  I'll  go  to  the 
Judge's  party.  I'll  have  another  glass  first.  Your 
health,  Thea  !  So  you  came  up  to  spy  on  me,  eh? 
I'll  drink  the  Sheriff's  health  —  everybody's  health  ! 

S^He  tries  to  get  more  punch. 


114  -^f^"^-  Pi'^'C//\S  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  hi. 

Hedda  {stopping  him). 

No  more  now.     You  are  going  to  a  party,  re- 
member. 

[Geokcie  (?//^/ Tesman  come  in  Ovin  back- too  in. 

LOVBORG. 

Doii'l  be  angry,  'I'hca.  1  was  fallen  fi^r  a  mo- 
ment. Now  I'm  up  again  !  (Mrs.  Elvsted 
beams  ^ci/h  t/r/ii;///.)  Judge,  I'll  come  to  your 
party,  as  you  are  so  pressing,  and  I'll  read  (ieorge  . 
my  manuscript  all  the  evening.  I'll  do  all  in  my 
power  to  make  tlial  party  go  ! 

George. 
No  ?  fancy  !  that  7c>i//  be  amusing  ! 

Hedda, 
There,  go  away,  you  wild  rollicking  creatures! 


ACT  II.  HEDDA    G ABLER. 


"5 


But   Wx.   Lovborg   must   be   back   at   ten,  to   take 
dear  Thea  home  ! 

Mrs.  Elvstkd. 

Oh,  goodness,  yes  !  (/;/  concealed  a<;-(>//y.)  Mr. 
Lovborg,  I  shan't  go  away  till  you  do  ! 

[_T//e  tJiree  men  go  out  hitighiug  i/ierri/v ;  tlie 
Act-drop  is  hnvered  foi-  a  miiiiite;  ic/ieii  it  is 
raised,  it  is  7  a.m.,  a/id  Mrs.  Elvsted  and 
Hedda  are  discovered  sitting  up,  with  rugs 
around  them. 

Mrs.  Elvsted  {^vearily). 

Seven  in  the  morning,  and  Mr.  Lovborg  not 
here  to  take  me  \\omt yet .'  what  can  he  be  doing? 

Hedda  {yaivning^. 

Reading  to  Tesman,  with  vine-leaves  in  his  hair, 
I  suppose.     Perhaps  he  has  got  to  the  third  part. 


ii6  MR.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  in. 

Mrs.  Elvsted. 
Oh,  do  you  irally  think  so,   Hedda?     Oh,  if  I 
ctjulil  but  liupc  he  was  doing  that  ! 

Hedda. 
You  silly  little  ninny  !     I  should  like  to  scorch 
your  hair  off.     Go  to  bed  ! 

[Mrs.  Elvsted  ^^<?j.     ^///(fr  George. 

George. 
I'm  a  litde  late,  eh  ?  I'.ut  we  made  such  a  night 
of  it.  Fancy  !  It  was  most  amusing.  Ejlert  read 
his  book  to  me  —  think  of  that  !  Astonishing  book  I 
Oh,  we  really  had  great  fun  !  I  wish  Fd  written 
it.     Pity  he's  so  irreclaimable. 

Hedda. 
I  suppose  you  mean  he  has  more  uf  the  courage 
of  life  than  most  people? 


ACT  11.  HEDDA    G ABLER.  117 

George, 

Good  Lord  !  He  had  the  courage  to  get  more 
drunk  than  most  people.  But,  altogether,  it  was 
what  you  might  almost  call  a  Bacchanalian  orgy. 
We  finished  up  by  going  to  have  early  coffee  with 
some  of  these  jolly  chaps,  and  poor  old  Lovborg 
dropped  his  precious  manuscript  in  the  mud,  and 
I  picked  it  up  —  and  here  it  is  !  Fancy  if  anything 
were  to  happen  to  it  !  He  never  could  write  it 
again.  IVou/Jii't  it  be  sad,  eh?  Don't  tell  any- 
one about  it. 

\_He  leaves  the  packet  of  MSS.  on  a  chair,  and 
rushes  out;  Hedda  hides  the  packet  as  Brack 
entej's. 

Brack. 

Another  early  call,  you  see  !  My  party  was  such 
a  singularly  animated  soiree  that  I  haven't  undressed 
all  night.     Oh,  it  was  the  liveliest  affair  conceiv- 


u8  MR.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN,      no.  iii. 

able  !  And,  like  a  true  Norwegian  host,  I  tracked 
Lovborg  home ;  and  it  is  only  my  duty,  as  a  friend 
of  the  house,  and  cock  of  the  walk,  to  take  the  first 
opportunity  of  telling  you  that  he  finished  up  the 
evening  by  coming  to  mere  loggerheads  with  a 
red-haired  opera-singer,  and  being  taken  off  to  the 
police-station  !  "\'ou  mustn't  have  him  here  any 
more.     Remember  our  little  triple  alliance  ! 

Hedda  ijie)-  smile  fading:;  away). 

You  are  certainly  a  dangerous  person  —  but  you 
must  not  get  a  hokl  over  me  ! 

Brack  {ai/i/>ii^i/oiis/y) . 

Wliat  an  idea!     15ui   I   miglu  —  I  am  an  insinu- 
ating dog.     (iood  morning  !  \_Gocs  out. 

Lovborg  {/'i/rsfim:;  in,  confused  and  excited). 
I  suppose  you've  heard  where  I've  been  ? 


ACT  II.  HEDDA    G ABLER.  119 

Hedda  {evasively). 
I  heard  you  had   a  very  jolly  party  at   Judge 
Brack's.  [Mrs.  Elvsted  comes  in. 

*  LOVBORG. 

It's  all  over.  I  don't  mean  to  do  any  more 
work.  I've  no  use  for  a  companion  now,  Thea. 
Go  home  to  your  Sheriff ! 

Mrs.  Elvsted  {agitated). 

Never  !  I  want  to  be  with  you  when  your  book 
comes  out  ! 

LuVBORG. 

It  won't  come  out  —  I've  torn  it  up!  (Mrs. 
Elvsted  rushes  out,  7vriiigi?ig  her  hands.)  Mrs. 
Tesman,  I  told  her  a  lie  —  but  no  matter.  I 
haven't  torn  my  book  up  —  I've  done  worse  !  I've 
taken   it   about    to   several  parties,   and  it's   been 


I20        MR.  rr.vc/rs  pocket  ibsf.x.    no.  m. 

through  a  poUce-row  with  me  —  now  I've  lost  it. 
Even  if  I  found  it  again,  it  wouldn't  he  the  same 
—  not  to  mo  !  I  am  a  Norwegian  literary  man, 
and  peculiar.  So  I  must  make  an  end  of  it  alto- 
gether ! 

Hedda. 

Quite  so  —  but  look  here,  you  must  do  it  beau- 
tifully. I  don't  insist  on  you  putting  vine-leaves 
in  your  hair  —  but  do  it  beautifully.  {Frh-hes 
pistol.)  See,  here  is  one  of  General  Gabler's  pis- 
tols—  do  it  with  that/ 

LOVBORG. 

Thanks  ! 

[//<?  iiikes  the  pistol,  and  goes  out  through  the 
hall-door;  as  soon  as  he  has  gone,  Hkdo.a. 
/>rings  out  the  manuscript,  and  puts  it  on  the 
fire,  whispering  to  herself,  as   Curtain  falls. 


"  I  am  a  Norwegian  literary  man,  and  peculiar.' 


ACT   III. 

Scene — The  same  Room,  but — //  being  evening 
—  darker  than  ever  —  the  crape  curtains  are 
draiitn.  A  Servant,  icith  black  ribbons  in  her 
cap,  and  red  eyes,  comes  in  and  lights  the  gas 
quietly  and  carefully.  Chords  are  heard  on 
the  piano  in  the  back  Drawing-room.  Pres- 
ently Hedda  comes  in  and  looks  out  into  the 
darkness.  A  short  pause.  Enter  George 
Tesman. 

George. 

I  am  so  uneasy  about  poor    Lovborg.     Fancy  ! 

he  is  not  at  home.     Mrs.  Elvsted  told  me  he  had 

been  here   early  this  morning,  so   I  suppose  you 

gave   him  back  his  manuscript,  eh? 

123 


124  ^1^^^'-  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  iii. 

Hedda   {colli  and  immovable,  supported  by  arm- 

cliair) . 

No,  I  put  it  on  the  fire  instead. 

George. 

On  the  fire  !  Lovborg's  wonderful  new  book 
tliat  he  read  to  me  at  Brack's  party,  when  we 
had  that  wild  revelry  last  night!  Fancy  tliat ! 
riut,  I  say,  Hedda — isn't  that  raiJicr — ch  ? 
Too  bad,  you  know  —  really.  A  great  work  like 
that.     How  on  earth  did  you  come  to  think  of  it? 

Hedda    {si/ppn'ssin<:;    an    almost    imperceptible 

smile) . 

Well,  dear  (".eorge,  you  gave  me  a  tolerably 
strong  hint. 

CIeorge. 

Me  ?     Well,  to  be  sure  —  that  is  a  joke  !     Why, 


ACT  III.  HEDDA    G ABLER.  125 

I  only  said  that  I  envied  him  for  writing  such  a 
book,  and  it  would  put  me  entirely  in  the  shade 
if  it  came  out,  and  if  anything  was  to  happen  to 
it,  I  should  never  forgive  myself,  as  poor  Lovborg 
couldn't  write  it  all  over  again,  and  so  we  must 
take  the  greatest  care  of  it !  And  then  I  left  it 
on  a  chair  and  went  away  —  that  was  all !  And 
you  went  and  burnt  the  book  all  up  !  Bless  me, 
who  would  have  expected  it? 

Hedda. 

Nobody,  you  dear  simple  old  soul  !  But  I  did 
it  for  your  sake  —  it  was  love,  George  ! 

George   {in  an  outburst  betueen  doubt  and  Joy). 

Hedda,  you  don't  mean  that  !  Your  love  takes 
such  queer  forms  sometimes.  Yes,  but  yes  — 
{laughing  in  excess  of  Joy),  why,  you  must  be  fond 
of  me  !     Just  think  of  that  now  !     Well,  you  are 


126  MR.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  hi. 

fun,  Medda  !  Look  here,  I  must  just  run  and  tell 
the  housemaid  that  —  she  will  enjoy  the  joke 
so,  eh? 

Hedda  {coldly,  in  self-covimand). 

It  is  surely  not  necessary,  even  for  a  clever 
Norwegian  man  of  letters  in  a  realistic  social 
drama,  to  make  quite  such  a  fool  of  himself  as  all 
that? 

George. 

No,  that's  true  too.  Perhaps  we'd  better  keep 
it  quiet  —  though  I  must  tell  Aunt  Julie  —  it  will 
make  her  so  happy  to  hear  that  you  burnt  a  manu- 
script on  my  account  !  And,  besides,  I  should 
like  to  ask  her  whether  that's  a  usual  thing  with 
young  wives.  {Looks  uneasy  and  pensive  again.) 
But  poor  old  ICjlcrt's  manuscript  !  Oh  Lor,  you 
know  !     Well,  well  !  [Mrs.  Elvsted  comes  in. 


ACT  III.  HEDDA    G ABLER.  127 

Mrs.  Elvsted. 

Oh,  please,  I'm  so  uneasy  about  dear  Mr. 
Lovborg.  Something  has  happened  to  him,  I'm 
sure  ! 

Judge  Brack,  {comes  in  from  the  hall,  with  a  new 
hat  in   his  hand). 

You  have  guessed  it,  first  time.  Something 
has  / 

Mrs.  Elvsted. 

Oh,  dear,  good  gracious!  What  is  it?  Some- 
thing distressing,  I'm   certain  of  it ! 

« 
[^Shrieks  aloitJ. 

Brack  (^pleasantly). 

That  depends  on  how  one  takes  it.  He  has 
shot  himself,  and  is  in  a  hospital  now,  that's  all  ! 


128  MK.    PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.     No.  m. 

George  i^sympathetidxlly) . 

That's  sad,  eh  ?  poor  old  Lovborg  !  Well,  I 
am  cut  up  to  hear  that.     Fancy,  though,  eh  ? 

Hedda, 

Was  it  through  the  temple,  or  through  the 
breast?  The  breast?  Well,  one  can  do  it  beau- 
tifully through  the  breast,  too.  Do  you  know,  as 
an  advanced  woman,  I  like  an  act  of  that  sort  — 
it's  so  positive,  to  have  the  courage  to  settle  the 
account  with  himself  —  it's  beautiful,  really  ! 

Mrs.  Elvsted. 

Oh,  Hedda,  what  an  odd  way  to  look  at  it  ! 
I5ut  never  mind  poor  dear  Mr.  Lovborg  now. 
What  7ve've  got  to  do  is  to  see  if  we  can't  put  his 
wonderful  manuscript,  that  he  said  he  had  torn 
to  pieces,  together   again.      ^^Takcs  a  bundle   of 


ACT  III.  HEDDA    GABLER.  129 

sinall  pages  out  of  the  pocket  of  her  mantle.') 
There  are  the  loose  scraps  he  dictated  it  to  me 
from.  I  hid  them  on  the  chance  of  some  such 
emergency.  And  if  dear  Mr.  Tesman  and  I  were 
to  put  our  heads  together,  I  do  think  something 
might  come  of  it. 

George. 

Fancy  !  I  will  dedicate  my  life  —  or  all  I  can 
spare  of  it  —  to  the  task.  I  seem  to  feel  I  owe  him 
some  slight  amends,  perhaps.  No  use  crying  over 
spilt  milk,  eh,  ]\Irs.  Elvsted?  We'll  sit  down  — 
just  you  and  I  —  in  the  back  drawing-room,  and 
see  if  you  can't  inspire  me  as  you  did  him,  eh? 

Mrs.  Elvsted. 

Oh,  goodness,  yes  !  I  should  like  it  —  if  it  only 
might  be  possible  ! 


I30  Mh\  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.    Nd.  iii. 

[George  atjd  Mrs.  Elvsted  go  into  tlic  bock 

Drawing-room  and  become  absorbed  in  eager 

conversation ;    IIiupa  sits  in  a  cliair  in   the 

front  room,  and  a  little  later   Dkack   crosses 

over  to  Jicr. 

Hedda   (///  a  low  tone). 

Oil,  Judge,  7ohat  a  relief  to  know  that  every- 
thing—  includinp;  Lovborg's  pistol  —  went  off  so 
well  !  h\  the  breast !  Isn't  there  a  veil  of  unin- 
tentional beauty  in  that?  Such  an  act  of  volun- 
tary courage,  too  ! 


Brack   {smiles) . 
11 'm  !  —  perhaps,  dear  Mrs.  Hedda 


Hedda   {enthusiastically) . 

But   wastiU  it   sweet   of    him  !      To    have    the 
courage  to  li\'e  his  own  life  after  his  own  fashion 


ACT  III.  HEDDA    GABLER.  131 

—  to  break  away  from  the  banquet  of  life  —  so 
early  and  so  drunk  !  A  beautiful  act  like  that  does 
appeal  to  a  superior  woman's  imagination  ! 

Brack. 

Sorry  to  shatter  your  poetical  illusions,  little 
Mrs.  Hedda,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  our  lamented 
friend  met  his  end  under  other  circumstances. 
The  shot  did  not  strike  him  in  the  breast  — 
l3ut \^Paiises. 

Hedda  {excitedly). 

General  Gabler's  pistols  !  I  might  have  known 
it  !  Did  they  ever  shoot  straight?  Where  was  he 
hit,  then? 

Brack  (/;/  a  discreet  undertone). 
A  little  lower  down  ! 


132  MK.   PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  hi. 

Hedda. 

Oh,  how  disgusting  !  —  how  vulgar  !  —  how 
ridiculous  !  —  like  everything  else  about  me  ! 

Brack. 

Yes,  we're  realistic  tyi>es  of  human  nature,  and 
all  thai  —  but  a  tritlc  s(iualid,  perhaps.  And  why 
did  you  give  T.ovborg  your  pistol,  when  it  was 
certain  to  be  traced  by  the  police  ?  For  a  charm- 
ing cold-blooded  woman  with  a  clear  head  and  no 
scruples,  wasn't  it  just  a  leetle  foolish? 

Hedda. 
Perhaps ;  but  I  wanted  liini  to  do  it  beautifully, 
and  he  didn't  !     Oh,  I've  just  admitted  that  I  did 
give    him    the    pistol  —  how  annoyingly  unwise  of 
me  !     Now  I'm  in  your  power,  I  suppose? 


ACT  III.  HEDDA    GABLER.  133 

Brack. 

Precisely  —  for  some  reason  it's  not  easy  to 
understand.  But  it's  inevitable,  and  you  know 
how  you  dread  anything  approaching  scandal. 
,A11  your  past  proceedings  show  that.  {To  George 
and  Mrs.  Elvsted,  ivlio  come  in  together  from  the 
baek-room.)  Well,  how  are  you  getting  on  with 
the  reconstruction  of  poor  Lovborg's  great  work, 
eh? 

George. 

Capitally ;  we've  made  out  the  first  two  parts 
already.  And  really,  Hedda,  I  do  believe  Mrs. 
Elvsted  is  inspiring  me  ;  I  begin  to  feel  it  coming 
on.     Fancy  that ! 

Mrs.  Elvsted. 

Yes,  goodness  !  Hedda,  zvon't  it  be  lovely  if  I 
can.     I  mean  to  try  so  hard  ! 


134  1/A'-    PI  XCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.     NO.  in. 

Hedda. 

Do,  you  dear  little  silly  rabbit ;  and  while  you 
are  trying  I  will  go  into  the  back  drawing-room 
and  lie  down. 

\_She  goes  iii/o  f/w  l>ack-ioom  and  driuvs  the 
curtains.  Short  pause.  Suddenly  she  is 
heard  phiying  "  The  Bogie  Man  "  within  on 
the  piano. 

George. 

But,  dearest  Hedda,  don't  play  "  The  Bogie 
Man  "  this  evening.  As  one  of  my  aunts  is  dead, 
and  poor  old  Lovborg  has  shot  himself,  it  seems 
just  a  litUe  pointed,  eh? 

Hedda  {puts  licr  head  out  bcti^vccn  the  curtains). 

All  right  !     I'll    be  quiet  after  this.     I'm  going 

to  practise  with  the  late  Cleneral  Gabler's  i)istol  ! 

\_Closes  the  curtains  again  :  George  gets  behind 


ACT  III.  HEDDA    GABLER.  IJ5 

the  stove,  Judge  Br.\ck  under  the  table,  and 
Mrs.  Elvsted  under  the  sofa.  A  shot  is 
heard  vjithin. 

George  {behind  the  store). 

Eh,  look  here,  I  tell  you  what  —  she's  hit  >ne  / 
Think  of  that ! 

\_IIis  legs  are  visibly  agitated  for  a  short  time. 
Another  shot  is  heard. 

Mrs.  Elvsted  {under  the  sofa). 

Oh,   please,   not   me  !      Oh,   goodness,   now   I 
can't  inspire  anybody  any  more.     Oh  ! 

\_Her  feet,  which  can  be  seen  under  the  valance, 
quiver  a  little,  and  then  are  suddenly  still. 

Brack  {vivaciously,  from  under  the  table) . 

I  say,  Mrs.  Hedda,  I'm  coming  in  every  even- 
ing —  we   will   have   great   fun   here    togeth • 


136  MR.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN,      nu.  hi. 

(^Another  shot  is  heard.)     IJless  me  !  to  bring  down 

the  poor  old  cock-of-the-walk  —  it's  unsportsman- 
like !  —  people  don't  i/o  such  things  as  that  ! 

\_The    table-ilotli     is    violently    agitated  for    a 

minute,  and  presently  tlic  curtains  open,  and 

Hedda  appears. 

Hkdda  {clearly  and  Jirnily). 
I've  been  trying  in  there  to  shoot  myself  beau- 
tifully—  but    wiih    Cieneral    Gabler's    pistol 


{.She  lifts  the  table-cloth,  then  looks  behind  the 
stove  and  under  the  sofa.)  \\"hat  I  the  accounts 
of  all  those  everlasting  bores  settled?  Then  my 
suicide  becomes  unnecessary.  Yes,  I  feel  the 
courage  of  life  once  more  ! 

[.S7/(f  goes  into  the  back-room  and  plays  "  The 

Funeral    March    of   a    I\[arionette "    as    the 

Curtain  falls. 

THE    END. 


What  1  the  accounts  of  all  those  everlasting  bores 
settled?" 


No.    IV. 
THE    WILD    DUCK 


Father,  a  wofl  with  yuu  in  private.     1  loathe  you!  " 


No.    IV. 
THE   WILD    DUCK. 

ACT   I. 

At  \\'erle's  house.  In  front  a  richly-uphohtered 
study.  (r.)  a  green-baize  door  leading  to 
Werle's  office.  At  back,  open  folding  doors, 
revealing  an  elegant  dining-room,  in  which  a 
brilliant  Nortvegian  dinner-party  is  going  on. 
Hired  Waite7-s  in  profusion.  A  glass  is  tapped 
ivith  a  knife.  Shouts  of  ^'  Bravo  f'  Old  Mr. 
Werle  /.$■  heaj'd  making  a  lojig  speech,  proposing 
—  according  to  the  custom  of  Norwegian  society 
on  such  occasions  —  the  health  of  his  House- 
keeper,   Mrs.    Sorbv.      Presently   several  short- 

141 


142  MR.   PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.       no.  iv. 

sighted,  flabby,  and  thin-haired  Chamberl-'^ins 
enter  from  the  dining-room,  with  Hialmar 
Ekdal,  7vho  writhes  shyly  under  tlieir  remarks. 

A  Chamberlain. 
As  we  are  the  sole  surviving  specimens  of  Nor- 
wegian nobility,  suppose  we  sustain  our  reputa- 
tion as  aristocratic  sparklers  by  enlarging  upon 
the  enormous  amount  we  have  eaten,  and  chaffing 
Hialmar  Ekdal,  the  friend  of  our  host's  son,  for 
being  a  professional  Photographer? 

The  Ojher  Chamberlains. 

Bravo  !     We  will. 

{They  do;  delight  of  Hialmar.  Old  Werle 
comes  in,  leaning  on  his  Housekeeper's  arm, 
followed  by  his  son,  Gregers  Werle. 

Old  Werle  {dejectedly). 
Thirteen  at  table  !     (  To  Gregers,  luith  a  mean- 


ACT  I.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  143 

ing  glance  at  Hialmar.)  This  is  the  result  of 
inviting  an  old  College  friend  who  has  turned 
Photographer !  Wasting  vintage  wines  on  ]n))i, 
indeed  !  \_He  passes  on  gloomily. 

*■  Hialmar  {lo  Gregers). 

I  am  almost  sorry  I   came.     Your  old   min  is 

fiol  friendly.     Yet  he  set  me  up  as  a  Photographer 

fifteen  years  ago.     JVozo  he  takes  me  down  !     But 

for  him,  I  should  never  have  married  Gina,  who, 

you  may  remember,  was  a  servant  in  your  family 

once. 

Gregers. 

What?   my   old    College   friend   married  fifteen 

years- ago  —  and  to  our  Gina,  of  all  people!     If 

I   had  not  been  up  at  the  works  all  these  years, 

I  suppose  I  should  have  heard  something  of  such 

an   event.      But   my    father   never   mentioned    it. 

Odd! 


144  'Wv'.  PUNCH 'S  POCKET  IBSEN,      no.  iv. 

\_He  ponders  ;  Old  Ekdal  comes  out  through  the 
green-baize  door,  bowing,  and  begging  pardon, 
carrying  copying  loork.  Old  \\'i;ki.e  says 
"  Ugh  "  and  ^'  Pah  "  involuntarily.  Hialmar 
shrinks  back,  and  looks  another  avay.  A 
Chamberlain  asks  him  pleasantly  if  he  knows 
that  old  man. 

Hlvlmar. 
I  —  oil  no.     Not  in  the  least.     No  relation  ! 

Gregers  (shocked). 

What,  Hialmar,  you,  with  your  great  soul,  deny 
your  own  father  ! 

Hialmar  {vehemently). 

Of  course  —  what   else  can  a  Photographer  (\o 

with   a   disreputable   old  jiarent,  who  has  been  in 

a   Penitentiary  for  making  a  fraudulent  map?     I 

shall    leave    this    splendid    banijuet.      The    Cham- 


ACT  I.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  145 

berlains   are   not   kind    to    me,    and    I    feel    the 
crushing  hand  of  fate  on  my  head  ! 

\_Goes  out  hasiily,  feeling  it. 

^  Mrs.  Sorbv   (^arehly). 

Any  Nobleman  here  say  "  Cold  Punch  "  ? 

\_Every  Nobleman  says  "  Cold  Punch,'''  and 
follotvs  her  out  in  search  of  it  with  enthu- 
siasm. Gregers  approaches  his  fatlier,  who 
wishes  he  would  go. 

Gregers. 

Father,  a  word  with  you  in  private.  I  loathe 
you.  I  am  nothing  if  not  candid.  Old  Ekdal 
was  your  partner  once,  and  it's  my  firm  belief 
you  deserved  a  prison  quite  as  much  as  he  did. 
However,  you  surely  need  not  have  married  our 
Gina  to  my  old  friend  Hialmar.     You  know  very 


140  MK.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.      no.  iv. 

well    she    was    no    better    than   she   should   have 
been ! 

Oil)  Wf.ri.e. 

True  —  but  then  no  more  is  Mrs.  Sorby.  And 
/  am  gohig  to  marry  her — if  you  liave  no  ob- 
jection, that  is. 

Gregers. 

None  in  the  world  !  How  can  I  object  to  a 
stepmother  who  is  playing  Blind  Man's  Iiuff  at 
the  present  moment  with  the  Norwegian  nobility? 
I  am  not  so  overstrained  as  all  that.  But  really 
1  cixnno/  allow  my  old  friend  llialmar,  with  his 
great,  confiding,  childlike  mind,  to  remain  in 
contented  ignorance  of  Gina's  past.  No,  I  see 
my  mission  in  life  at  last  I  I  shall  take  my  hat, 
and  inform  him  that  his  home  is  built  upon  a 
lie.      He  will  be  so  nnu  Ii   (ibliged  to  me! 

[^Tal't's  his  ha/,  and  goes  out. 


ACT  I.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  147 

Old  Werle, 
Ha  !  —  I  am  a  wealthy  merchant,  of  dubious 
morals,  and  I  am  about  to  marry  my  housekeeper, 
who  is  on  intimate  terms  with  the  Norwegian 
aristocracy.  I  have  a  son  who  loathes  me,  and 
who  is  either  an  Ibsenian  satire  on  the  Master's 
own  ideals,  or  else  an  utterly  impossible  prig — I 
don't  know  or  care  which.  Altogether,  I  flatter 
myself  my  household  affords  an  accurate  and 
realistic  picture  of  Scandinavian  Society  ! 


ACT   II. 

HiAi.MAR  Ekdal's  Photographic  Stiniio.  Cameras, 
jieck-resis,  and  other  instruments  of  torture 
tying  about.  Gina  Ekdai,  (/;/(/  Hedvig,  her 
daughter,  aged  fourteen,  and  wearing  spectacles, 
discovered  sitting  up  for  Hialmar. 

Hedvig. 

Grandpapa  is  in  his  room  with  a  bottle  of 
brandy  and  a  jug  of  hot  water,  doing  some 
fresh  copying  worlc.  Father  is  in  society,  dining 
out.  He  promised  he  would  bring  me  home 
something  nice  ! 

Hialmar  (^coming  in,  in  evening  dress). 

And  he  has  not  forgotten  his  promise,  my  child. 

14S 


ACT  II.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  149 

Behold  !  {^He  prcseiiis  her  with  the  menu  card ,- 
Hedvig  gulps  doivn  her  tears ;  Hialmar  notices 
her  disappointment,  with  annoyance?)  And  this 
all  the  gratitude  I  get !  After  dining  out  and 
coming  home  in  a  dress-coat  and  boots,  which 
are  disgracefully  tight !  Well,  well,  just  to  show 
you  how  hurt  I  am,  I  won't  have  any  beer  now  ! 
What  a  selfish  brute  I  am  !  {Relenting.)  You 
may  bring  me  just  a  little  drop.  {He  bursts  into 
tears.)  I  will  play  you  a  plaintive  Bohemian 
dance  on  my  flute.  {He  does.)  No  beer  at  such 
a  sacred  moment  as  this  !  {He  drinks.)  Ha, 
this  is  real  domestic  bliss  ! 

[Gregers    Werle    comes    in,   in    a    countrified 
suit. 

Gregers. 

I  have  left  my  father's  home  —  dinner-party  and 
all  —  for  ever.     I  am  coming  to  lodge  with  you. 


ISO  MR.  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.      no.  iv. 

HiALMAR  {sti//  mc/anch(y/y). 
Have  some  bread  and  l)iitter.  ^'ou  won't? 
then  I  7i'/7/.  1  want  it,  after  your  father's  lavish 
hospitality.  (Hf.dvig  goes  to  fchh  bread  atui 
butler.^  My  daughter  —  a  jioor  short-sighted 
little  thing  —  but  mine  own. 

Gregers. 
My  father  has  had  to  take  to  strong  glasses, 
too  —  he  can  hardly  see  after  dinner.  (71>  Old 
Ekdal,  who  stumbles  in  very  drinik.)  How  can 
you.  Lieutenant  l-^kdal,  who  were  such  a  keen 
sportsman  once,  live  in  this  poky  little  hole? 

Oi.i»  Ekdal. 

I  am  a  sportsman  still.     The  only  difference  is 

that  once  1  shot  bears  in  a  forest,  and  now  I  pot 

tame    rabbits   in    a   garret.     Quite  as  amusing  — 

and  safer.  \_IIe  goes  to  sleep  on  a  sofa. 


ACT  II.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  151 

HiAOiAR  {7inth  pride). 

It  is  quite  true.     You  shall  see. 

\^He  pushes  back  sliding  doors,  and  7-eveals  a 
garret  full  of  raldnls  and  poultry  —  moon- 
light effect.  Hedvig  returns  with  bread  and 
butter. 

Hedvig  {to  Gregers). 

If  you  stand  just  there,  you  get  the  best  view 
of  our  AMld  Duck.  We  are  very  proud  of  her, 
because  she  gives  the  play  its  title,  you  know, 
and  has  to  be  brought  into  the  dialogue  a  good 
deal.  Your  father  peppered  her  out  shooting, 
and  we  saved  her  life. 

HiALMAR. 

Yes,  Gregers,  our  estate  is  not  large  —  but  still 
we  preserve,  you  see.  And  my  poor  old  father 
and  I  sometimes  get  a  day's  gunning  in  the  garret. 


152  MR.  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.      no.  i\  . 

He  shoots  with  a  pistol,  which  my  ilHterate  wife 
here  7i<ill  call  a  "  i)igstol."  1  le  once,  when  he 
got  into  trouble,  pointed  it  at  himself.  But  the 
descendant  of  two  lieutenant-colonels  who  had 
never  quailed  before  living  rabbi't  yet,  foltered 
then.  He  iHthi't  shoot.  Then  I  put  it  to  my 
own  head.  ]5ut  at  the  decisive  moment,  I  won 
the  victory  over  myself  I  remained  in  life. 
Now  we  only  shoot  .rabbits  and  fowls  with  it. 
After  all,  1  am  very  happy  and  contented  as  I 
am.  \_He  cats  some  bread  aud  butter. 

Gregers. 
But  you  ought  not  to  be.  You  have  a  good 
ileal  of  the  ^\■il(l  Duck  about  you.  So  have  your 
wife  and  daughter.  \'ou  are  living  in  marsh 
vapours.  To-morrow  I  will  take  you  out  for  a 
walk  and  c\|>I,iin  wlial  I  mean.  Jt  is  my  mission 
in  life,     (lood  night  !  \_He  goes  out. 


ACT  II.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  153 

GiNA  and  Hedvig. 
What  was  the  gentleman  talking  about,  Father? 

HiALMAR  {eating  bread  and  butter') 
He  has  been  dining,  you  know.     No  matter  — 
what  7i.ie  have  to  do  now,  is  to  put  my  disreputable 
old  white-haired  pariah  of  a  parent  to  bed, 
\^He  atid  Gina  lift  Old  Eccles  —  7ve  mean  Old 
Ekdal  —  ///  by  the  legs  and  arms,  and  take 
him  off  to  bed  as  the   Curtain  falls. 


ACT  III. 

Hialmar's   Studio.     A  photograph    has  just  been 
taken.     Gina  and  Hedvig  are  tidying  up. 

GiNA  {apologetically). 
There  should  have  been  a  hincheon-party  in 
this  Act,  with  Dr.  Relling  antl  McHvik,  who  would 
have  been  in  a  state  of  comic  "  chippiness,"  after 
his  excesses  overnight.  But,  as  it  hadn't  much 
to  do  with  such  plot  as  there  is,  we  cut  it  out. 
It  came  cheaper.  Here  comes  your  father  back 
from  his  walk  with  that  lunatic,  Young  Werle  — 
you  had  better  go  and  play  with  the  W  ild  1  )u(  k. 

\\\^\i\\G  goes. 
HiALMAR  {coming  in). 

I  have  been  for  a  walk  with  Gregers ;  he  meant 

•54 


ACT  III.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  155 

well  —  but  it  was  tiring.  Gina,  he  has  told  me  that, 
fifteen  years  ago,  before  I  married  you,  you  were 
rather  a  Wild  Duck,  so  to  speak.  (^Severely.) 
Why  haven't  you  been  writhing  in  penitence  and 
remorse  all  these  years,  eh? 

Gina  (^sensibly). 
Why?     Because    I   have    had    other    things    to 
do.      You   wouldn't    take    any   photographs,   so    I 
had  to. 

HiALMAR. 

All  the  same  —  it  was  a  swamp  of  deceit.  And 
where  am  I  to  find  elasticity  of  spirit  to  bring 
out  my  grand  invention  now?  I  used  to  shut 
myself  up  in  the  parlour,  and  ponder  and  cry, 
when  I  thought  that  the  effort  of  inventing  any- 
thing would  sap  my  vitality.  {Pathetically.)  I 
did  want  to  leave  you  an  inventor's  widow ;  but 
I  never  shall  now,  particularly  as  I  haven't  made 


15O  MR.   Pb'NCirs  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  iv. 

up  my  mind  what  to  invent  yet.  Yes,  it's  all 
over.  Rabbits  are  trash,  and  even  poultry  palls. 
And  I'll  wring  that  cursed  \\  ild  Duck's  neck  ! 

Gkegers  {coining  in  beaming). 

Well,  so  you've  got  it  over.  Wasn't  it  soothing 
and  ennobling,  eh?  and  ain't  you  both  obliged 
to  me? 

GiNA. 

No  ;  it's  my  opinion  you'd  better  have  minded 
your  own  business.  [  Weeps. 

Gregers  (/V/  great  surprise). 

Bless  me  !  Pardon  my  Norwegian  naivete,  but 
this  ought  really  to  be  (juite  a  new  starting-point. 
Why,  I  confidently  expected  to  have  found  you 
both  beaming  !  —  Mrs.  Ekdal,  being  so  illiterate, 
may  take  some  little   time   to   see   it  —  but   you. 


ACT  III.       .  THE   WILD  DUCK.  157 

Hialmar,  with   your  deep  mind,  surely  you   feel  a 
new  consecration,  eh? 

Hialmar  {ilubioiisly) . 

Oh  —  er  —  yes.     I   suppose   so  —  in   a   sort  of 
way.  I^Hedvig  runs  iu,  overjoyed. 

Hedvig. 

Father,  only  see  what  Mrs.  Sorby  has  given  me 
for  a  birthday  j^resent  —  a  beautiful  deed  of  gift ! 

\_Shoivs  it. 
Hialmar  {eluding  Jier). 

Ha !  Mrs.  Sorby,  the  family  Housekeeper. 
My  Cither's  sight  failing  !  Hedvig  in  goggles  ! 
What  vistas  of  heredity  these  astonishing  coinci- 
dences open  up  !  /  am  not  short-sighted,  at  all 
events,  and  I  see  it  all  —  all  !  This  is  my  answer. 
{He   takes   the  deed,  and  tea  is  it  across.)      Now 


158  MR.  rUXCirS  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  iv, 

I  have  nothing  more  to  do  in  this  house.  {Puts 
on  overcoat.)  My  home  has  fallen  in  ruins  about 
me.     {Bursts  into  tears.)     My  hat ! 

(3REGEKS. 

Oh,  but  you  mustn't  go.  You  must  be  all 
three  together,  to  attain  the  true  frame  of  mind 
for  self-sacrificing  forgiveness,  you  know  ! 

HiAl.MAK. 

Self-sacrificing  forgiveness  be  blowed  ! 

\_IIc  tears  himse//  aicay,  and  i^oes  out. 

TTf.iaii;  {-oith  t/es/>airin<^^  eyes). 

Oh,  he  said  it  might  be  blowed  !  Now  he'll 
never  come  home  any  more  ! 

Gregers. 

Shall    1    tell   you    how    to   regain   your   father's 


ACT  III.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  159 

confidence,    and   bring   him   home   surely?     Sac- 
rifice the  Wild  Duck. 

Hedvig. 
Do  you  think  that  will  do  any  good? 

Gregers. 

You  just  try  it!  \_Cii)tain. 


ACT   IV. 

Same   Scene.      Gregers   enters,    ixnJ  finds   Gina 
retouching  photographs. 

Gregers  {pleasantly). 

Hialmar  not  come  in  yet,  after  last  night,  I 
suppose? 

Gina. 

Not  he  !  He's  been  out  on  the  loose  all  night 
with  Relling  and  Molvik.  Now  he's  snoring  on 
their  sofa. 

G  REG  ERS  (  disappoin  ted ) . 

Dear  !  — dear  !  —  when  he  ought  to  be  yearning 

to  wrestle  in  solitude  and  self-examination  ! 

I  Co 


ACT  IV.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  i6i 

GlXA  {rudely). 

Self-examine  your  grandmother  ! 

\_She  goes  out ;   Hedvig  comes  in. 

Gregers  {to  Hedvig). 

Ah,  I  see  you  haven't  found  courage  to  settle 
the  Wild  Duck  yet ! 

Hedvig. 

No  —  it  seemed  such  a  delightful  idea  at  first. 
Now  it  strikes  me  as  a  trifle  —  well,  Ibsenish. 

Gregers  {reprovingly). 

I  thought  you  hadn't  grown  up  quite  unharmed 
in  this  house  !  But  if  you  really  had  the  true, 
joyous  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  you'd  have  a  shot 
at  that  Wild  Duck,  if  you  died  for  it ! 


I62  MR.   rUXCirS  pocket  IBSEiV.      no.  IV. 

Hedvig  {s/o7a/)'). 

I  sec  ;  yoii  mean  that  my  constitution's  chang- 
ing, and  I  ought  to  behave  as  such? 

Gregers. 

Exactly,    I'm    what   Americans   would    term   a 
"crank"  —  but  /  believe  in  you,  Hedvig. 

[Hedvk;  fcikes  1/070/1  the  pistol  from  the  mantel- 
piece, and  goes  into  the  garret  with  plashing 
eyes;    Gina  comes  in. 

HiAi.MAR   {looking  in  at  door  7vith  hesitation  ;    he 
is  unwashed  and  dishevelled). 

Has  anybody  happened  to  see  my  hat? 

Gina. 

Gracious,  what  a  sight  you  are  !     Sit  down  and 
have  some  breakfast,  do.  \_She  />rings  it. 


ACTiv.  THE   WILD  DUCK.  163 

HiALMAR  {i7idig7tantly) . 

What!  touch  food  under  this  roof?  Never! 
{He/ps  hi/iiscif  to  bread-and-butter  and  coffee.^ 
Go  and  pack  up  my  scientific  uncut  books,  my 
manuscripts,  and  all  the  best  rabbits,  in  my  port- 
manteau. I  am  going  away  for  ever.  On  second 
thoughts,  I  shall  stay  in  the  spare  room  for  another 
day  or  two — it  won't  be  the  same  as  living  with 
you  !  \_He  takes  some  salt  meat 

Gregers. 

Must  yow  go?  Just  when  you've  got  nice  firm 
ground  to  build  upon  —  thanks  to  me  !  Then 
there's  your  great  invention,  too. 

HiALMAR. 

Everything's  invented  already.  And  I  only 
cared   about    my   invention    because,    although    it 


i64  .UK.    I'LWCirS   POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  iv. 

doesn't  exist  yet,  I  thought  lIciKiL,'  bclioved  in 
it,  with  all  the  strength  of  her  swet-t  little  sliort- 
sighted  eyes!  But  now  1  don't  believe  in  lled- 
vig  ! 

[//<?  pours  himself  out  anotJwr  cup  of  cofffc. 

( 1  KF.(  ;f.rs  (rarni'stlv) . 
But,  Iliahnar,   if  I    can   prove   to   you   that  she 
is    ready   to  sacrifice   her  cherished   Wild   Duck? 
See! 

[//<?  pushes  hack  sHiUiig-door,  am!  discovers 
Hedvig  aiming  at  the  Wild  Dick  ^cith  the 
hutt-eiui  of  the  pistol.      Tah/eau. 

CiiXA  (excitci//)'). 
liut  don't  you  see?     It's  the  uigstol  —  that  fatal 
Norwegian    weapon    which,    in    Ibscnian    dramas, 
never   shoots    straight  !     And    she    has   got    it    by 
the  wrong  end  too.     She  will  shoot  herself! 


Discovers  Hedvig  aiming  at  the  Wild  Duck  with  the  butt- 
end  of  the  pistol." 


ACT  IV.  THE   WILD   DUCK.  167 

Gregers  (^quietly). 

She  will  !  Let  the  child  make  amends.  It  will 
be  a  most  realistic  and  impressive  finale  ! 

GiNA. 

No,  no  —  put  down  the  pigstol,  Hedvig.  Do 
you  hear,  child? 

Hedvtg  {still  aiming). 
I  hear  —  but  I  shan't  unless  father  tells  me  to. 

Gregers, 

Hialmar,  show  the  great  soul  I  always  said  yon 
had.  This  sorrow  will  set  free  what  is  noble  in 
you.  Don't  spoil  a  fine  situation.  Be  a  man  ! 
Let  the  child  shoot  herself! 


i68  MR.    rUXCirs  POCKET  IBSEX.      no.  iv. 

HiAi.MAR  {irresolutely). 

Well,  really  1  don't  know.  There's  a  good  deal 
in  what  Gregers  says.     H'm  ! 

GiN.A. 

A  good  deal  of  tomfool  rubbish  !  I'm  illiterate, 
1  know.  I've  been  a  Wild  1  )iu  k  in  my  time, 
and  I  wacUlIe.  Lut  for  all  that,  I'm  the  only 
person  in  the  play  with  a  grain  of  common-sense. 
And  I'm  sure  —  whatever  Mr.  Ibsen  or  Gregers 
choose  to  say  —  that  a  screaming  burlescjuc  like 
this  ought  not  Xo  end  like  a  tragedy  —  even  in  this 
queer  Norway  of  ours  !  And  it  shan't,  either ! 
Tell  the  <  hild  to  put  that  nasty  pigstol  down 
an<l  come  away,  do  ! 

1 1 1 A I  MAR  {^yielding) . 
Ah,    well,    I    am    a    farcical    character    myself, 


ACTiv.  THE  WILD  DUCK.  169 

after  all.  Don't  touch  a  hair  of  that  duck's 
head,  Hedvig.  Come  to  my  arms,  and  all  shall 
be  forgiven  ! 

[Hedvig  throws  dotvn  the  pistol — which  goes 

off  and  kills  a  rabbit — and  rushes  into  her 

father's   arms.     Old   Ekdal  comes  out  of  a 

corner  ivith    a  fowl  on    each    shoulder,   and 

bursts  into  tears.     Affecting  family  picture. 

Gr egers  {anno\ 'cd ) . 

It's  all  very  pretty,  I  dare  say  —  but  it's  not 
Ibsen  !  My  real  mission  is  to  be  the  thirteenth 
at  table.  I  don't  know  what  I  mean  —  but  I  fly 
to  fulfil  it  !  \_He  goes. 

HiALMAR. 

And  now  we've  got  rid  of  him,  Hedvig,  fetch 
me    the   deed    of  gift    I    tore   up,  and   a  slip    of 


ijo  J/A".   PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN,     no.  iv. 

paper,  and  a  penny  bottle  of  gum,  and  we'll  soon 
make  a  valid  instrument  of  it  again  ! 

[//(?  pastes  the  torn  deed  together  as  the   Cur- 
tain slowly  descends. 


THE    EXD. 


PILL-DOCTOR    HERDAL 

(^Translated  from  the  Original  Nonvegian  by  Mr.  Punch) 


"  For  goodness'  sake,  let  go  my  legs ! 


PILL-DOCTOR     HERDAL. 

{^Translated  from  the  Original  Norwegian  by  Mr.  Punch.') 

[Prefatory  Note.  —  The  original  title,  Mester-Pijl- 
drogster  Herdal,  would  sound  a  trifle  too  uncouth  to  the 
Philistine  ear,  and  is  therefore  modified  as  above,  although 
the  term  "drogster,"  strictly  speaking,  denotes  a  practitioner 
who  has  not  received  a  regular  diploma.] 

ACT   I. 

An  elegantly  furnished  Dratmtig-room  at  Dr. 
Herdal's.  /;/  front,  on  the  left,  a  Console- 
table,  on  which  is  a  large  7-ound  bottle  full  of 
coloured  water.  On  the  right  a  stove,  with  a 
banner-screen  made  out  of  a  richly-embroidered 
chest-protector.  On  the  stove,  a  stethoscope  and 
a  small  galvanic  battery,     fn  one  corner,  a  hat 

afid  umbrella   stand ;    in   another,    a   desk,    at 

173 


174  ^l/A".  rrXC//\S  POCKET  IBSEiW       ACT  i. 

which  stands  Senna  Hi.akhrai',  making  out  tlic 
quarterly  accounts.  Through  a  glass-door  at 
the  back  is  seen  the  Dispensary,  where  Rl'BUB 
Kai.omki,  is  seated,  occupied  in  rolling  a  pill. 
Both  go  on  70orl:ing  in  perfect  silence  for  four 
minutes  and  a  half. 

Dr.  IIaustus  Hkriui.  {enters  through  hall-door; 
he  is  elderly,  7i>ith  a  plain  sensible  countenance, 
but  slightly  7i.ieak  hair  and  expression). 

Come  here,  Miss  Blakdraf.  (^Hangs  up  hat,  anil 
thro7vs  his  mackintosh  on  a  divatt.)  Ila\o  you 
made  out  all   those   hills  \(.'t? 

\_Looks  sternly  at  her. 

Sknna  {in  a  lou'  hesitating  I'oice). 

Almost.  I  have  charged  each  patient  with 
three   attendances    daily.       I'Acn    when    you    only 


ACT  I.  PILL-DOCTOR  HER  DAL.  175 

dropped  in  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  chat.      {Passion- 
ately.)     I  felt  1  must — I  must.' 

Dr.  Herdal   {alters  his  tone,  clasps  her  head  in 
his  hands,  and  whispers). 

I  wish  you  could  make  out  the  bills  for  me, 
always. 

Senna  (///   nen'ous  exaltation^. 

How  lovely  that  would  be  !  Oh,  you  are  so 
unspeakably  good  to  me  !  It  is  too  enthralling  to 
be  here  !  [^Sinks  down  and  embraces  his  knees. 

Dr.  Herdal. 

So  I've  understood.  (  With  suppressed  irrita- 
tion.) For  goodness'  sake,  let  go  my  legs  !  I  do 
ivish  you  wouldn't  be  so  confoundedly  neurotic  ! 

RuBUB    {has   risen,   and  comes  in   through  glass- 
door,  breathing  with  difficulty ;    he  is  a  prcma- 


176  MR.  PUNCirs  POCKET  IBSEN.        act  i. 

tiirely  hald  youni^  tfian  of  fifty -five,  with  a  hare- 
lip and  squints  s/ii:;ht/y). 

I  beg  pardon,  Dr.  Ilcrdal.  1  sec  1  interrupt 
you.  {.Is  Sknn'a  rises.)  I  have  just  completed 
this  pill.     Have  you  looked  at  it? 

\_JJe  offers  it  for  inspection  diffidently. 

Dr.  Hkrdaf,  {evasively'). 
It  appears  to  be  a  pill  of  the  usual  dimensions. 

RuBUB  {cast  down). 
All   these  years  you  have  never  given  me  one 
encouraging  word  !     Can't  you  praise  my  pill? 

Dr.  Hkrdai,  {struggles  with  himself). 
I  —  I  cannot.     Vou  should  not  attempt  to  com- 
pound pills  on  your  own  account. 

RiJBUB  {breathing  laboriously). 

And  \cl  there  was  a  lime  when  you,  too 


ACT  I.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  177 

Dr.  Herdal  (^complacently). 
Yes,  it  was  certainly  a  pill  that  came  as  a  lucky 
stepping-stone  —  but  not  a  pill  like  that ! 

RuBUB  {vehemently') . 
Listen  !     Is  that  your  last  word  ?     Is  my  aged 
mother   to    pass   out    of  this   world    without    ever 
knowing  whether  I  am  competent  to  construct  an 
effective  pill  or  not? 

Dr.  Herdal  {as  if  in  desperation). 
You  had    better  try   it    upon  your  mother  —  it 
will  enable   her  to  form  an  opinion.     Only  mind 
—  I  will  not  be  responsible  for  the  result. 

RiJBUB. 

I  understand.     Exactly  as  you  tried  your  pill, 
all  those  years  ago,  upon  Dr.  Ryval. 

\^He  bo7vs,  and  goes  out. 


178  MK.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.        Acr  i. 

Dr.  Herdal  {utieasily). 
He  said  that  so  strangely,  Senna.     But  tell  me 
now  —  when  are  you  going  to  marry  him? 

Senna  {starts  —  half  glancing  up  at  /lim). 
I  —  I  don't   know.      This  year  —  next  year  — 
now — never/     I  cannot  marry  him  ...     I  can- 
not—  1    cannot — it    is   so    utterly   impossible   to 
leave  you  ! 

Dr.  Herdal. 
Yes,    I    can    understand    that.       liut,    my   poor 
Senna,  hadn't  you  better  take  a  little  walk? 

Senna  {clasps  her  hands  gratefully). 
How  sweet  and  thoughtful   you  are  to  nie  !     I 
will  take  a  walk. 

Dr.  Herdal  (rt'/V//  a  suppressed  smile). 
Do  I       And  —  h'm  !  —  you   needn't    trouble    to 


ACT  I.  PILL-DOCrOR  HERD  A  L.  179 

come  back.  I  have  advertised  for  a  male  book- 
keeper —  they  are  less  emotional.  Good-night, 
my  little  Senna  ! 

Senna  {softly,  and  quiveringly). 

Good-night,  Dr.  Herdal ! 

\_Stagge7-s  out  of  hall  door,  blowing  kisses. 

Mrs.  Herdal  {enters  through  the  window,  plain- 
tively) . 
Quite  an  acquisition  for  you,  Haustus,  this  Miss 
Blakdraf ! 

Dr.  Herdal. 

She's  —  h'm  !  —  extremely  civil  and  obliging. 
But  I  am  parting  with  her.  Aline  —  mainly  on  your 
account. 

Mrs.  Herdal  {evades  him). 

Was  it  on  my  account,  indeed,  Haustus?     You 


l8o  MK.  rUA'CI/'S  POCKET  IBSEN.        act  i. 

have  parted  witli  so  many  young  persons  on  my 
account  —  so  you  tell  me! 

Dr.  Hf.rdal  {depressed). 

Oh,  but  this  is  hopeless  !  When  I  have  tried 
so  hard  to  bring  a  ray  of  sunlight  into  your  deso- 
late life  !  I  must  give  Riibub  Kalomel  notice  too 
—  his  pill  is  really  too  preposterous  ! 

Mrs.  Herdal  {/cc/s  f^ropingly  for  a  chair,  and  sits 
down  on  the  floor). 

Him,  too!  Ah,  Haustus,  you  will  never  make 
my  home  a  real  home  for  me.  My  poor  first 
husband,  Halvard  Solness,  tried  —  and  he  couldn't  ! 
\\'hen  one  has  had  such  misfortunes  as  I  have  — 
all  the  family  portraits  burnt,  and  the  silk  dresses, 
too,  and  a  pair  of  twins,  and  nine  lovely  dolls. 

[  Chokes  with  tears. 


ACT  PILL-DOCTOR   HERD  A  L.  iSi 

Dr.  Herdal  {as  if  to   lead  her  away  from   the 

subject^ . 
Yes,  yes,  yes,  that  must  have  been  a  heavy  blow 
for  you,  my  poor  AHne.  I  can  understand  that 
your  spirits  can  never  be  really  high  again.  And 
then  for  poor  Master  Builder  Solness  to  be  so 
taken  up  with  that  Miss  Wangel  as  he  was  —  that, 
too,  was  so  wretched  for  you.  To  see  him  topple 
off  the  tower,  as  he  did  that  day  ten  years  ago 

Mrs.  Herdal. 

Yes,  that  too,  Haustus.  But  I  did  not  mind  it 
so  much  —  it  all  seemed  so  perfectly  natural  in 
both  of  them. 

Dr.  Herdal. 

Natural !  For  a  girl  of  twenty-three  to  taunt 
a  middle-aged  architect,  whom  she  knew  to  be 
constitutionally   liable   to   giddiness,   never   to    let 


l82  MK.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.        act  i. 

him  have  any  peace  till  he  had  climbed  a  spire  as 
dizzy  as  himself — and  all  for  the  fun  of  seeing 
him  fall  off —  how  in  the  world ! 

Mrs.  Hf.rdai,  {/avinc;   the  tabic  for  supper  with 
dried  fish  and  punchy. 

The  younger  generation  have  a  keener  sense  of 
humour  than  we  elder  ones,  Haustus,  and  perhaps, 
after  all,  she  was  only  a  perplexing  sort  of  allegory. 

Dr.  Hkrdal. 

Yes,  that  would  explain  her  to  some  extent,  no 

doubt.     ]]ut  how  he  could   be  sucii  an  old   fool  ! 

Mrs.  Hf.rdal. 

That  Miss  Wangel  was  a  strangely  fascinating 
type  of  girl,     ^\'hy,  even   I   myself 


ACT  I.  PILL-DOCTOR  HER  DAL.  183 

Dr.  Herdal  {sits  down  and  takes  some  fish). 

Fascinating?  Well,  goodness  knows,  I  couldn't 
see  that  at  all.  {Seriously.)  Has  it  never  struck 
you,  Aline,  that  elderly  Norwegians  are  so  deu- 
cedly  impressionable  —  mere  bundles  of  over- 
strained nerves,  hypersensitive  ganglia?  Except, 
of  course,  the  Medical  Profession, 

Mrs.  Herdal. 

Yes,  of  course  ;  those  in  that  profession  are  not 
so  inclined  to  gangle.  And  when  one  has  suc- 
ceeded by  such  a  stroke  of  luck  as  you  have 

Dr.  Herdal  {drinks  a  glass  of  punch). 

You're  right  enough  there.  If  I  had  not  been 
called  in  to  prescribe  for  Dr.  Ryval,  who  used 
to  have  the  leading  practice  here,  I  should  never 
have  stepped  so  wonderfully   into  his  shoes  as  I 


184  MR.  PUNCH'S  rOCKET  IBSEN.        act!. 

did.  (Cha Hill's  to  a  ionc  of  quiet,  chuckling  merri- 
ment.) I.cl  nic  tell  you  a  funny  story,  Aline;  it 
sounds  a  ludicrous  thing  —  but  all  niy  good  fortune 
here  was  based  upon  a  simple  little  \n\\.  For  if 
Dr.   Ryval  had  never  taken  it 

Mrs.  Hi.kPAi.  {anxious/v). 
Then  you  do  think  it  was  the  pill  that  caused 

him  to ? 

Dr.   ?Ii-.ri)AL. 

On  the  contrary  ;  1  am  perfectly  sure  the  \m\\ 
had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it  —  the  inquest 
made  it  quite  clear  that  it  was  really  the  liniment. 
But  don't  you  see,  .Aline,  what  tortures  me  night 
and  tlay  is  the  thoui^ht  that  it  mii^/it  unconsciously 

have  been  the  pill  wliich Never  to  be  free 

from  that/  To  have  such  a  thought  gnawing 
and  burning  always  —  always,  like  a  moral  mustard 
poultice  !  [/A'  takes  more  punch. 


ACT  I.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  185 

Mrs.  Herdal. 

Yes  ;  I  suppose  there  is  a  poultice  of  that  sort 
burning  on  every  breast  —  and  we  must  never 
take  it  off  either  —  it  is  our  simple  duty  to  keep 
it  on.  I  too,  Haustus,  am  haunted  by  a  fancy 
that  if  this  Miss  Wangel  were  to  ring  at  our  bell 


now 


Dr.  Herdal. 

After  she  has  been  lost  sight  of  for  ten  years? 
She  is  safe  enough  in  some  Sanatorium,  depend 
upon  it.  And  what  if  she  did  come?  Do  you 
think,  my  dear  good  woman,  that  I  —  a  sensible 
clear-headed  general  practitioner,  who  have  found 
out  all  I  know  for  myself — would  let  her  play 
the  deuce  with  me  as  she  did  with  poor  Halvard? 
No,  general  practitioners  don't  do  such  things  — 
even  in  Norway  ! 


1 86  MR.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.        act  i. 

Mrs.  Herdal. 

Don't  they  indeed,  Haustus?  {The  Suri^ery- 
bfll  rings  /oiu/ly.)  Did  you  hear  f/ia/ /  'I'hcre 
she  is.  I  will  go  and  i)ut  on  my  best  cap.  It  is 
my  duty  to  show  her  that  small  attention. 

Dr.  iIi:Ri)AL  {/ai/g/iiiig  /wn'ously'). 

Why,  what  on  earth  ! It's  the  night-bell. 

It  is  most  probably  the  new  book-keei)er  !  (Mrs. 
YivMBXh  goes  01/ f;  Dr.  Hkrdal  rises  witli  liifficulty, 
and  opens  the  door.)  Goodness  gracious  !  —  it  is 
that  girl,  after  all  ! 

Hilda  Wangf.l  {enters  through  the  Dispensary 
door.  She  7cears  a  divided  skirt,  tliiek  boots, 
and  a  Tarn  o\Shanter,  ivith  an  eagle's  7C<ing  in 
it.  Somewhat  freekled.  Carries  a  green  tin 
cylinder  slung  round  Iter,  and  a  rug  in  a  strap. 


ACT  I.  PILL-DOCTOR   HERDAL.  187 

Goes  straight  up  to  Herdal,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  happiness) . 

How  are  you?  I've  rim  you  down,  you  see  ! 
The  ten  years  are  up.  Isn't  it  scrumptiously 
thrilling,  to  see  me  like  this? 

Dr.  Herdal  (po/itefy  retreating). 

It  is  —  very  much  so  —  but  still  I  don't  in  the 
least  understand 

Hilda  {measures  him  with  a  glance). 

Oh,  you  7i'///.  I  have  come  to  be  of  use  to 
you.  I've  no  luggage,  and  no  money.  Not  that 
that  makes  any  difference.  I  never  have.  And 
I've  been  allured  and  attracted  here.  You  surely 
know  how  these  things  come  about? 

[_Thro7i's  her  arms  round  him. 


1 88  MR.  I'UNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.        act  i. 

I)k.  Hkkdal. 

What  the  deuce  !  Miss  Wangel,  you  mustn't. 
I'm  a  married  man  !     There's  my  wife  ! 

[Mrs.  Hkrual  enters. 

Hilda. 

As  if  tJiaf  mattered  —  it's  only  dear,  sweet  Mrs. 
Solness.  She  doesn't  mind  —  do  you,  dear  Mrs. 
Sohiess  ? 

Mrs.  Herdal. 

It  does  not  seem  to  be  of  much  use  minding, 
Miss  Wangel.     I  presume  you  have  come  to  stay? 

Hli.hA  (///  iii/iiised  surprise). 

Why,  of  course  —  what  else  should  I  come  for? 
I  ahvavs  come  to  stay,  until  —  h'm  ! 

\_Nods  sloivly,  and  sits  lioian  at  tabic. 


ACT  I.  PILL-DOCTOR  HER  DAL.  189 

Dr.  Herdal  {involuntarily). 

She's  drinking  my  punch  '     If  she   thinks   I'm 
going  to  stand  this  sort  of  thing,  she's  mistaken. 
I'll  soon  show  her  a  Pill-Doctor  is  a  very  differ- 
ent kind  of  a  person  from  a  mere  Master  Builder  ! 
[Hilda  finishes  the  punch  with   a>i  indefinable 
expression  in  her  eyes,  and  Dr.  Herdal  looks 
on.  gloomily    as    the    Curtain  Jails.     End  of 
First  Act. 


ACT    II. 

Dr.  Hekiwl's  Draiving-rooin  and  Dispensary,  as 
before.  It  is  early  in  the  day.  Dr.  Herdal 
sits  by  the  little  table,  taking  his  oioii  temperature 
with  a  clinical  thenndmcter.  By  the  door  stands 
The  New  Book-keeper  ;  he  wears  blue  specta- 
cles and  a  discoloured  white  tic,  and  seems  slightly 

neri'ous. 

Dr.  Herdal. 

Well,  now   you    understand   what    is    necessary. 

My  late  book-keeper,  Miss  IJlakdraf,  used  to  keep 

my  accounts  very  cleverly  —  she  charged  every  visit 

twice  over. 

The  New  Rook- keeper. 

T    am    familiar    with     book-keeping    by    double 

entry.     I  was  once  employed  at  a  Bank. 

190 


ACT  11.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERBAL.  191 

Dr.  Herdal. 
I    am   discharging   my   assistant,  too ;    he   was 
always  trying  to  push  me  out  with  his  pills.     Per- 
haps you  will  be  able  to  dispense? 

The  New  Book-keeper  {modes f/y). 
With  an  additional  salary,  I  should  be  able  to  do 

that  too. 

Dr.  Herdal. 

Capital  !     You  shall  dispense  with  an  additional 
salary.     Go  into  the  Dispensary,  and  see  what  you 
can  make  of  it.     You  may  mistake  a  few  drugs  at 
first  —  but  everything  must  have  a  beginning. 
\_As  The  New  Book-keeper  ir fires,  Mrs.  Her- 
dal enters  in  a  hat  and  cloak  with  a  7aater- 
ing-pot,  noiselessly. 

Mrs.  Herdal. 
Miss  Wangel  got  up  early,  before  breakfast,  and 


192  MR.    PUXCI/'S   roc k' FT  IBSEN.      act  ii. 

went    for   a   walk.      She    is   so    wonderfully    viva- 
cious ! 

Dk.  Her  DAL. 

So  I  should   say.      lUit    tell    me,  Aline,  is   she 
really  going  to  stay  with  us  here?       S^Xcrvously. 

Mrs.  Herdal  {looks  at  him). 

So   she   tells    nie.       And,   as    she    has    brought 

nothing    with    her    except   a   tooth-brush    and    a 

powder-puff,  I  am  going  into  the  town  to  get  her 

a  few  articles.     We  must  make  her  feel  at  home. 

Dr.  Hfrdai,  {I' reading  out). 
I  will  make  her  not  only  feel,  but  l>e  at  home, 
wherever  that  is,  this  very  day  !  1  will  not  have  a 
perambulating  Allegory  without  a  portmanteau  here 
on  an  indefinite  visit.  I  say,  she  shall  go  —  do 
you  hear,  Aline?     Miss  Wangel  will  go! 

\_Raps  ivith  his  fist  on  tabic. 


A.CT  II.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  193 

Mrs.  Herdal  {quietly). 
If  you  say  so,  Haustus,  no  doubt  she  will  have 
to  go.     But  you  must  tell  her  so  yourself. 

\^Piits  the  watering-pot  on  the  console-table,  and 
goes  out,  as  Hilda  enters,  sparkling  witli 
pleasure. 

Hilda  {goes  up  straight  to  him). 
Good  mornmg,  Dr.  Herdal.     I  have  just  seen  a 
pig  killed.       It  was  ripping —  I    mean,   gloriously 
thrilling  !     And  your  wife  has  taken  a  tremendous 
fancy  to  me.     Fancy  that/ 

Dr.  Herdal  {gloomily). 
It    is    eccentric    certainly.     But    my    poor   dear 
wife  was  always  a  little 

Hilda  {nods  her  head  slowly  several  times). 
So  you  have  noticed  that  too?      I  have  had  a 


194  MK.   rUXCJ/'S  POCKET  7BSEN.       Acr  ii. 

long  talk  with  her.  She  can't  get  over  your  dis- 
charging Mr.  Kalomel — he  is  the  only  man  who 
ever  rca//y  understood  her. 

Dr.  Herdal. 

If  I  could  only  pay  her  off  a  little  bit  of  the 
huge,  imincMsiuahle  debt  I  owe  her  —  but  I  can't ! 

Hilda  {looks  hard  at  him). 

Can't  /  help  you?  I  helped  Ragnar  Brovik. 
Didn't  you  know  I  stayed  with  him  and  poor  little 
Kaia  —  after  that  accident  to  my  Master  Ikiilder? 
I  did.  I  made  Ragnar  build  me  the  loveliest  castle 
in  the  air  —  lovelier,  even,  than  poor  Mr.  Solness's 
would  have  been  —  and  we  stood  together  on  the 
very  top.  The  steps  were  rather  too  much  for 
Kaia.  Resides,  there  was  no  room  for  her  on  top. 
And  he  put  towering  spires  on  all  his  semi- 
detached villas.     Only,  somehow,  they  didn't  let. 


ACT  II.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERBAL.  195 

Then  the  castle  in  the  air  tumbled  down,  and 
Ragnar  went  into  liquidation,  and  I  continued  my 
walking-tour. 

Dr.  Herdal  {interested  against  Jiis  zviH). 

And  where  did  you  go  after  that,  may  I  ask, 
Miss  Wangel? 

Hilda. 

Oh,  ever  so  far  North.  There  I  met  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Tesman  —  the  second  Mrs.  Tesman  —  she 
who  was  Mrs.  Elvsted,  with  the  irritating  hair,  you 
know.  They  were  on  their  honeymoon,  and  had 
just  decided  that  it  was  impossible  to  reconstruct 
poor  Mr.  Lovborg's  great  book  out  of  Mrs.  Elv- 
sted's  rough  notes.  But  I  insisted  on  George's 
attempting  the  impossible  —  with  Me.  And  what 
do  you  think  Mrs.  Tesman  wears  in  her  hair 
now? 


196  MK.  I'UNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.       alt  11. 

Dr.  I  Ikrdai.. 

Why,    really    I    could    not    say.       Vine-leaves, 

perhaps. 

Hilda. 

Wrong  —  straws  !  Poor  Tesman  didn't  f;incy 
that  —  so  he  shot  himself,  ////-beautifully,  through 
his  ticket-pocket.  And  I  went  on  and  took 
Rosmersholm  for  the  Suninier.  There  had  been 
misfortune  in  the  house,  so  it  was  to  let.  Dear 
good  old  Rector  Kroll  acted  as  my  reference;  his 
wife  and  children  had  no  sympathy  with  his  views, 
so  I  used  to  see  him  every  day.  And  I  persuaded 
him,  too,  to  attemj^t  the  impossible  —  he  had 
never  ridden  anything  but  a  rocking-horse  in  his 
life,  but  I  made  him  promise  to  mount  the  White 
Horse  of  the  Rosmersholms.  Me  didn't  get  over 
that.  They  found  his  body,  a  fortnight  afterwards, 
in  the  mill-dam.     Thrilling  ! 


ACT  II.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  197 

Dr.  Herdal  {shakes  his  finger  at  he)-). 
What  a  girl   you  are,  Miss  Wangel  !     But   you 
mustn't  play  these  games  here,  you  know. 

Hilda  {laughs  to  herself^. 
Of  course  not.     But  I  suppose  I  am  a  strange 
sort  of  bird. 

Dr.  Herdal. 
You  are  like  a  strong  tonic.     When  I  look  at 
you  I  seem  to  be  regarding  an  effervescing  saline 
draught.     Still,  I  really  must  decline  to  take  you. 

Hilda  {a  little  sulky'). 
That  is  not  how  you  spoke  ten  years  ago,  up  at 
the  mountain  station,  when  you  were  such  a  flirt  ! 

Dr.  Herdal. 
JVas  I  a  flirt?     Deuce  take  me  if  I  remember. 
But  I  am  not  like  that  now. 


198  MM.  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.      acth. 

Hilda. 

Then  you  have  really  forgotten  how  you  sat  next 

to   me   at   the   table  ifhdte,  and    made    pills  and 

swallowed  them,  and  were  so  splendid  and  buoyant 

and  free  that  all  the  old  women  who  knitted  left 

next  day? 

Dr.  Herdal. 

What  a  memory  you  ha\'e  for  trifles,  Miss  Wan- 
gel,  it's  quite  wonderful  ! 

Hilda. 

Trifles  !  There  was  no  trifling  on  your  part. 
When  you  promised  to  come  back  in  ten  years, 
like  a  troll,  and  fetch  me  ! 

Dr.  Herdal. 

Dill  I  say  all  that?  It  must  have  been  after 
table  iVhote! 


ACT  II.  PILL-DOCTOR  HEKDAL. 


199 


Hilda. 

It  was.     I  was  a  mere  chit  then  —  only  twenty- 
three  ;   but  /  remember.     And  now  /  have  come 

for  you. 

Dr.  Herdal. 

Dear,  dear  !     But  there  is  nothing  of  the  troll 
about  me  now  I  have  married  Mrs.  Solness. 

Hilda  {looking  sharply  at  him). 

Yes,  I  remember  you  were  always  dropping  in 
to  tea  in  those  days. 

Dr.  Herdal  {seems  hurt). 
Every  visit  was  duly  put  down  in  the  ledger  and 
charged  for  —  as  poor  little  Senna  will  tell  you. 

Hilda. 

Little  Senna?     Oh,  Dr.  Herdal,  I  beheve  there 
is  a  bit  of  the  troll  left  in  you  still ! 


200  MR.    PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEX.      actii. 

Dr.  Herdal  {/ai/!^/is  a  little). 

No,  no  ;  my  conscience  is  perfectly  robust  — 
always  was. 

Hilda. 

Are  you  quite  quite  sure  tliat,  when  you  went 
indoors  with  dear  Mrs.  Solness  that  afternoon,  and 
left  me  alone  with  my  Master  Builder,  you  did  not 
foresee  —  perhaps    wish  —  intend,    even   a   little, 

that H'm? 

Dr.  Herbal. 

That  you  would  talk  the  poor  man  into  clam- 
bering up  that  tower  ?  Vou  want  to  drag  Me  into 
that  business  now  ! 

Hilda  {tea singly). 

Yes,  I  certainly  think  that  then  you  went  on 
exactly  like  a  troll. 


ACT  II.  PILL-DOCTOR  HEKDAL.  201 

Dr.  Herdal  {tvith  uncontrollable  emotioji). 

Hilda,  there  is  not  a  corner  of  me  safe  from 
you  !  Yes,  I  see  now  that  must  have  been  the 
way  of  it.  Then  I  luas  a  troll  in  that,  too  !  But 
isn't   it  terrible   the  price  I  have  had  to  pay  for 

it?     To  have  a  wife  who No,  I  shall  never 

roll  a  pill  again  —  never,  never  ! 

Hilda  {lays  her  head  on  the  stove,  and  answers 
as  if  half  asleep). 

No  more  pills?     Poor  Doctor  Herdal! 

Dr.  Herdal  {bitterly). 
No  —  nothing  but  cosy  commonplace  grey  pow- 
ders for  a  whole  troop  of  children. 

Hilda  {lively  again). 

Not  grey  powders  !  ( Quite  seriously.)  I  will 
tell   you   what   you    shall    make    next.      Beautiful 


202  M/i.   PUXCirS  I'OCKET  IBSEN.      alt  ii. 

rainbow-coloured  powders  that  will  give  one  a 
real  grip  on  the  world.  Powders  to  make  every 
one  free  and  buoyant,  and  ready  to  grasp  at  one's 
own  happiness,  to  liare  wliat  one  would.  I  will 
have  you  make  them.     I  will  —  I  will ! 

I)k.  Herdal. 
H'm  !     I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  clearly  under- 
stand.    And  then  the  ingredients ? 

Hilda. 
What  stupid  people  all  of  you  pill-doctors  are, 
to  be  sure  !     ^^  hy,  they  will  be  poisons,  of  coyrse  ! 

Dr.  Herdal. 

Poisons?     Why   in    the    world   should   they   be 

that  ? 

Hilda  {7c>itJioiit  ansiccring  him). 

All  the  thrillingest,  deadliest  poisons  —  it  is  only 
such  things  that  are  wholesome,  nowadays. 


"  Beautiful  rainbow-coloured  powders  that  will  give  one 
a  real  grip  on  the  world  !  " 


ACT  II.  PILL-DOCTOR  HEKDAL.  205 

Dr.  Herdal  {as  if  caught  by  her  enthusiasm). 

And  I  could  colour  them,  too,  by  exposing 
them  to  rays  cast  through  a  prism.  Oh,  Hilda, 
how  I  have  needed  you  all  these  years  !  For, 
you  see,  with  her  it  was  impossible  to  discuss 
such  things.  \_Efnbraces  her. 

Mrs.    Herdal    {enters    noiselessly    through    hall- 
door)  . 

I  suppose,  Haustus,  you  are  persuading  Miss 
Wangel  to  start  by  the  afternoon  steamer?  I  have 
bought  her  a  pair  of  curling-tongs,  and  a  packet 
of  hair-pins.  The  larger  parcels  are  coming  on 
presently. 

Dr.  Herdal  {uneasily). 

H'm  !  Hilda  —  Miss  Wangel,  I  should  say  — 
is  kindly  going  to  stay  on  a  litUe  longer,  to  assist 


2o6  MR.   rUXCirS  J'OCh'El'  IBSEX.       ACTII. 

mc  in  some  scientific  experiments.     You  wouldn't 
understand  them  if  I  told  you. 

Mrs.  Herdal. 
Shouldn't   I.  llaustus?     I  daresay  not. 
[The  New  Book-kkkper  looks  fhroui^h  the  glass- 
door  of  Dispensary. 

Hilda    {starts   violently   and  points  —  then    in   a 

whisper) . 

Who  is  that? 

Dr.  Herual. 
Only  the   New   Book-keeper  and  Assistant  —  a 
very  intelligent  person. 

Hilda  {/oohs  straight  in  front  of  her  7vith  a  far- 
atvav  e.xpression,  and  ichispcrs  to  hfrsclf). 

I    thought  at  first   it   was  .  .  .     But  no— that 
wo\ild  1)C  too  frightfully  thrilling  ! 


ACT  II.  PILL-DOCTOR  HER  DAL.  207 

Dr.  Herdal  i/o  himself). 

I'm  turning  into  a  regular  old  troll  now  —  but 
I  can't  help  myself.  After  all,  I  am  only  an 
elderly  Norwegian.  We  are  tnm/e  like  that  .  .  . 
Rainbow  powders  —  real  rainbow  powders  !  With 
Hilda  !  .  .  .  Oh,  to  have  the  joy  of  life  once 
more  ! 

\_Takes  his  temperature  again  as  Curtain  falls. 


ACT    TIT. 

On  the  ri<^lU,  a  smart  7'craiu/ali,  attachcii  to  1)K. 
Hkrdal's  dwelling-house,  and  coinnii/nieating 
with  the  Drawing-room  and  Disp<nsary  hy 
glass-doors.  On  the  left  a  tuml>le-do7vn  roekery, 
with  a  headless  /blaster  Mercury.  In  front,  a 
la7vn,  7vith  a  large  silvetrd  glass  globe  on  a 
stand.  Chairs  and  tables.  All  the  furniture  is 
of  galvanised  iron.  A  sunset  is  seen  going  on 
among  the  trees. 

Dk.  Hi  kii\i.  {comes  out  of  Dispensary-door  cau- 
tiously, and  7ohispers). 

Hil(l:i,  are  you  in  there? 

[71//J  7c>ith  fingers  on  Drawing-room  door. 
208 


ACT  III.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  209 

Hilda  (^conies  out  with  a  half-teasing  smile). 
Well  —  and  how  is  the  Rainbow-powder  getting 
on,  Dr.  Herdal? 

Dr.  Herdal  {with  enthusiasm). 
It  is  getting  on  simply  splendidly.  I  sent  the 
new  Assistant  out  to  take  a  little  walk,  so  that  he 
should  not  be  in  the  way.  There  is  x\rsenic  in  the 
powder,  Hilda,  and  Digitalis  too,  and  Strychnine, 
and  the  best  Beetle-killer  ! 

Hilda  {with  happy,  wondering  eyes) . 

Lots  of  Beetle-killer?  And  you  will  give  some 
of  it  to  her,  to  make  her  free  and  buoyant.  I 
think  one  really  has  the  right  —  when  people 
happen  to  stand  in  the  way ! 

Dr.  Herdal. 
Yes,  you  may  well  say  so,  Hilda.     Still  —  {dubi- 


2IO  J//v\   PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN,     act  in. 

ously)  —  it  docs  occur  to  me  that  such  doings  may 
perhaps  be  misunderstood  —  by  the  narrow-minded 
and  conventional. 

\_They  ^i^v  on  the  /aicii,  and  sit  down. 

Hilda  {^tnth  an  outburst). 

Oh,  that  all  seems  to  me  so  foolish  —  so  irrele- 
vant !  As  if  the  whole  thing  wasn't  intended  as  an 
Allegory  ! 

Dr.  Herdai.  {relieved^. 

Ah,  so  long  as  it  is  merely  allegorical,  of 
course But  what  is  it  an  allegory  of,  Hilda? 

Hilda  {^reflects  in  vain). 

How  can  you  sit  there  and  ask  such  questions? 
I  suppose  I  am  a  symbol,  of  some  sort. 


ACT  III.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERBAL.  211 

Dr.  Herdal  {as  a  thought  flashes  upon  him). 

A  cymbal?  That  would  certainly  account  for 
your  bra Then  am  /a  cymbal  too,  Hilda? 

Hilda. 

Why  yes  —  what  else  ?  You  represent  the 
Artist-worker,  or  the  Elder  Generation,  or  the 
Pursuit  of  the  Ideal,  or  a  Bilious  Conscience  — 
or  something  or  other.      J  t;//re  all  right ! 

Dr.  Herdal  {shakes  his  head). 

Am  I  ?     But  I  don't  quite  see Well,  well, 

cymbals  are  meant  to  clash  a  little.  And  I  see 
plainly  now  that  I  ought  to  prescribe  this  powder 
for  as  many  as  possible.  Isn't  it  terrible,  Hilda, 
that  so  many  poor  souls  never  really  die  their  own 
deaths  —  pass  out  of  the  world  without  even  the 


212  MR.   PUNCH'S  I'OCK'ET  IHSEN.     act  iii. 

formality  of  an  inquest?     As  the  district  Coroner, 
I  feel  strongly  on  the  subject. 

Hilda. 
And,  when  the  Coroner  has  finished  sitting  on 
all  the  bodies,  perhaps —  but  I  shan't  tell  you  now. 
{Speaks  as  if  to  a  chihf.)     There,  run  away  and 
finish  making  the  Rainbow-powder,  do  ! 

Dr.  Herdal  {^skips  up  into  the  Dispensary). 
I  will  —  I  will  !     Oh,  I   do   feel  such  a  troll  — 
such  a  light-haired,  light-headed  old  devil ! 

RiJBUB  {enters  garden-gate). 
I  have  had  my  dismissal  —  but    I'm  not  going 
without  saying  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Herdal. 

Till  HA. 

Dr.  Herdal  would  disapprove  —  you  really  must 
not,  Mr.  Kalomcl.      .Vnd,  besides,  Mrs.  Herdal  is 


ACT  III.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  213 

not  at  home.  She  is  in  the  town  buying  me  a  reel 
of  cotton.  Dr.  Herdal  is  in.  He  is  making  real 
Rainbow- powders  for  regenerating  everybody  all 
around.     Won't ///<?/ be  fun? 

RUBUB. 

Making  powders?  Ha  !  ha  !  But  you  will  see 
he  won't  take  one  himself  It  is  quite  notorious 
to  us  younger  men  that  he  simply  daren't  do  it. 

Hilda  {tvith  a  little  snort  of  contempf). 

Oh,  I  daresay  —  that's  so  likely  !  {Defiantly.) 
I  know  he  can,  though.     I've  seen  him  ! 

RUBUB. 

There  is  a  tradition  that  he  once  —  but  not 
now  —  he  knows  better.     I  think  you   said  Mrs. 


214  ^I/A'.  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN,     act  hi. 

Herdal  was  in  the  town?     I  will  go  and  look  for 
her.     I  understand  her  so  well. 

\^Goes  out  by  gate. 

Hilda  {calls). 

Dr.  Herdal!  Come  out  this  minute.  I  want 
you  —  awfully  ! 

Dr.  Herdal  {puts  his  head  out). 

Just  when  1  am  making  such  wonderful  progress 
with  the  powder!  [Comes  down  and  leans  on  a 
table.)  Have  you  hit  u])on  some  wav  of  giving 
it  to  Aline?  I  thought  if  you  were  to  put  it  in 
her  arrowroot ? 

Hilda. 

No,  thanks.  I  won't  have  that  now.  I  have 
just  recollected  that  it  is  a  rule  of  mine  never 
to   injure    anybody    1    have    once    been    formally 


ACT  III.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  215 

introduced  to.     Strangers  don't  count.     No,  poor 
Mrs.  Herdal  mustn't  take  that  powder  ! 

Dr.  Herdal  {^disappointed^. 

Then  is  nothing  to  come  of  making  Rainbow- 
powders,  after  all,  Hilda? 

Hilda  {looks  hard  at  hini). 

People   say   you    are  afraid   to  take  your   own 
physic.     Is  that  true? 

Dr.  Herdal. 

Yes,  I  am.     {After  a  pause  —  with  candour.^ 
I  find  it  invariably  disagrees  with  me. 

Hilda  {with  a  half-dubious  smile). 

I  think  I  can  understand  that.     But  you    did 
once.     You  swallowed  your  own  pills  that  day  at 


2i6  MK.    PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN.    ACi  in. 

the   table  li'ho/e,  ten  years  ago.     And  I  heard  a 
\\M\)  ill  the  air,  too  ! 

Dr.  Herdal  {opcn-mouiheti). 

I  don't  think  that  <v///(/ have  been  Me.  I  don't 
play  any  instrument.  And  that  was  quite  a  special 
thing,  too.  It's  not  every  day  I  can  do  it.  Those 
were  only  bread  pills,  IliUla. 

HiLD.\  {jvith  flashing  eyes). 

But  you  rolled  them  ;  you  took  them.  And  I 
want  to  see  you  stand  once  more  free  antl  high 
and  great,  swallowing  your  own  preparations. 
{Passionately.)  I  ^c•ill  have  you  do  it  !  {Im- 
ploringly.)    Just  onee  more.  Dr.  Herdal ! 

Dk.     Hl.RDAL. 

If  I  (lid,   Hilda,  my   medical  knowledge,  slight 


ACT  III.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  217 

as  it  is,  leads  me  to  the  conclusion .  that  I  should 
in  all  probability  burst. 

Hilda  {^looks  deeply  into  his  eyes). 

So  long  as  you  burst  beautifully  !  But  no  doubt 
that  Miss  Blakdraf 

Dr.  Herdal. 

You  must  believe  in  me  utterly  and  entirely. 
I  will  do  anything  —  anything,  Hilda,  to  provide 
you  with  agreeable  entertainment.  I  7i'iil  swallow 
my  own  powder  !  {To  himself,  as  he  goes  gravely 
up  to  Dispensary.)  If  only  the  drugs  are  suffi- 
ciently adulterated  ! 

\^Goes  in ;  as  he  does  so,  The  New  Assistant 
enters  the  garden  in  blue  spectacles,  unseen  by 
Hilda,  and  follows  him,  leaving  open  the 
glass-door. 


2i8  J/A'.  PUNCirS  POCKET  IBSEN,     aci  in. 

Senna  Biakdraf  {lOfiics  7vildl\  out  of  Drawitii:;- 

rooni) . 
Where  is  dear  Dr.  Jlcrdal?     Oh,  Miss  Wangel, 
he  has  discharged   me  —  but   I   can't  —  I  simply 
can'/  Hve  away  from  thai  IoncIv  ledger  ! 

Hilda  {jubilauily) . 

At  this  moment  Dr.  Herdal  is  in  the  Dispensary, 
taking  one  of  liis  own  powders. 

Senna  {dcspain'tig/y). 

But  —  but  it  is  utterly  impossible  !  Miss  Wan- 
gel,  you  have  such  a  firm  hold  of  him  —  don't 
let  him  do  that  ! 

Hilda. 

I  have  already  done  all  I  can. 
[RiJBUB  appears,  (a/ki/ii:^  confidentially  wit/i  Mrs. 
Hiokdal,  at  gate. 


ACT  III.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERBAL.  219 

Senna. 
Oh,  Mrs.  Herdal,  Rubub  !     The  Pill-Doctor  is 
going  to  take  one  of  his  own  preparations.     Save 
him  —  quick  ! 

Rubub  {with  cold  politeness') . 
I  am  sorry  to  hear  it  —  for  his  sake.     But  it 
would  be   quite  contrary  to  professional  etiquette 
to  prevent  him. 

Mrs.  Herdal. 
And   I  never  interfere  with  my  husband's  pro- 
ceedings.     I    know    my   duty,    Miss   Blakdraf,    if 
others  don't  ! 

Hilda  {exulting  with  great  intensity). 
At  last  !     Now   I   see  him  in  there,  great  and 
free  again,  mixing  the  powder  in  a  spoon  —  with 
jam  !  .  .  .     Now  he  raises  the  spoon.     Higher  — 


220  MR.  PLWCirS  POCKET  IliSEX.     act  iii. 

higher  still  !  {^A  ^ulp  is  auiUhle  from  7ciithin.) 
There,  didn't  you  iicar  a  hari)  in  the  air? 
{Quietly.)  I  can't  see  the  spoon  any  more, 
liut  there  is  one  he  is  striving  with,  in  blue 
spectacles  ! 

The  New  Assistant's  Voice  {within). 

The  Pill-Uoctor  llcrdal  has  taken  his  own 
powder ! 

Hilda  {as  if  petrificii). 

That  voice  !  Where  have  I  heard  it  before? 
No  matter  —  he  has  got  the  powder  down  ! 
(  Waves  a  sha7C'l  in  the  air,  and  shrieks  ivith  7oiU 
jubilation.)  It's  too  awfully  thrilling!  My  —  my 
Pill- Doctor  ! 

The  New  Assistant  {comes  out  on  verandah). 
I  am  happy  to  inform  you  that  —  as,  to  avoid 


"My  — wyPill.Doctor!" 


ACT  111.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  223 

accidents,  I  took  the  simple  precaution  of  filling 
all  the  Dispensary-jars  with  Camphorated  Chalk 
—  no  serious  results  may  be  anticipated  from  Dr. 
Herdal's  rashness.  {^Removes  spectacles.)  Nora, 
don't  you  know  me? 

Hilda  {^reflects). 

I    really    don't    remember    having    the    pleas- 
ure      And  I'm  sure   I  heard  a  harp  in   the 

air  ! 

Mrs.  Herdal. 

I  fancy.  Miss  Wangel,  it  must  have  been  merely 
a  bee  in  your  bonnet ! 

The  New  Assistant  {tenderly). 

Still   the    same   little   singing-bird  !     Oh,   Nora, 
my  long-lost  lark  ! 


224  ^//>'-  PUNCH'S  POCKET  IBSEN.      act  in. 

Hilda  {si/Iky). 

T'm  ;/('/  a  lark  —  I'm  a  IJird  of  T'rcy  —  and, 
when  I  get  my  claws  into  anything ! 

The  New  Assistant. 

Macaroons,  for  instance?  I  remember  your 
tastes  of  old.  See,  Nora  !  {Produces  a  papcr- 
/>ag  from  his  coat-tail  pocket.')  They  were  fresh 
this  morning  ! 

H I LDA  ( loavering) . 

If  you  insist  on  calling  me  Nora,  I  think  you 
must  be  just  a  little  mad  yourself. 

The  New  Assistant. 

We  are  all  a  little  mad  —  in  Norway.  But 
Torvald  Helmcr  is  sane  enough  still  to  recognise 
his  own  little  squirrel  again  !     Surely,  Nora,  your 


ACT  III. .  PILL-DOCTOR  HERDAL.  225 

education  is  complete  at  last  —  you  have  gained 
the  experience  you  needed? 

Hilda  {nods  slow/y). 

Yes,  Torvald,  you're  right  enough  there.  I  have 
thought  things  out  for  myself,  and  have  got  clear 
about  them.  And  I  have  quite  made  up  my 
mind  that  Society  and  the  Law  are  all  wrong, 
and  that  I  am  right. 

Helmer  {overjoyed). 

Then  you  hwc'e  learned  the  Great  Lesson,  and 
are  fit  to  undertake  the  charge  of  your  children's 
education  at  last !  You've  no  notion  how  they've 
grown  !  Yes,  Nora,  our  marriage  will  be  a  true 
marriage  now.  You  will  come  back  to  the  DoU's- 
House,  won't  you? 


226  MR.   rUNC/rS  POCKET  IBSEN,      act  iii. 

1  Iii.da-Nora-Helmer-Wangel  (Jiesitates). 
Will  you  let  me  forge  cheques  if  I  do,  Torvald? 


Helmer  {ardently). 

All  day.     And  at  night,  Nora,  we  will  falsify  the 
accounts  —  together  ! 


Hilda-Nora-Helmer-Wangel  {throws  herself  into 
*  his  arms,  ami  helps  herself  to  macaroons) . 

That    will    be    fearfully    thrilling  !       My  —  mv 
Manager  1 

Dr.    Herdal    {comes   out,   very  pale,   from    Dis- 
pensary). 

Hilda,  I  dill  take  the I'm  afraid  I  inter- 
rupt you? 


ACT  III.  PILL-DOCTOR  HERBAL.  227 

Helmer. 

Not  in  the  least.  But  this  lady  is  my  little 
lark,  and  she  is  going  back  to  her  cage  by  the 
next  steamer. 

Dr.  Herdal  {bitterly). 

Am  I  never  to  have  a  gleam  of  happiness  —  ? 
But  stay  —  do  I  see  my  little  Senna  once  more  ? 

RiJBUB. 

Pardon  me  —  my  little  Senna.  She  always  be- 
lieved so  firmly  in  my  pill  ! 

Dr.  Herdal. 

Well  —  well.  If  it  must  be.  Riibub,  I  will  take 
you  into  partnership,  and  we  will  take  out  a  patent 
for  that  pill,  jointly.  Aline,  my  poor  dear  Aline, 
let  us  try  once  more  if  we  cannot  bring  a  ray  of 
brightness  into  our  cheerless  home  ! 


228  MA'.    J'rXCI/'S  POCK'KT  IBSEX.     \c\\\\. 

Mrs.  Herdal. 

Oh,  Haustus,  if  only  we  coii/d — but  why  do 
you  propose  that  to  me  —  noio  ? 

Dr.   Hi'.rdal  {^softly  —  to  himself) . 

Because  I  have  tried  being  a  troll  —  and  found 
that  nothing,  came  of  it,  and  it  wasn't  worth 
sixpence  ! 

[Hii.DA-NoRA  goes  off  to  the  rii^ht  icith  Helmer  ; 
Senna  to  the  /eft  with  Ruhuis  :  Dr.  Herdal 
and  Mrs.  Herdai,  sit  on  two  of  the  galvanised 
ij'on-chairs,  and  sJiake  tlieir  /leads  disconso- 
lately as  the   Curtain  falls. 

THE   END. 


THE  WORKS  OF 

William  Winter. 


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"  But  it  has  seemed  to  the  author  of  these  poems  — 
which  of  course  are  offered  as  absolutely  impersonal 
—  that  they  are  the  expression  of  various  representative 
moods  of  human  feeling  and  various  representative 
aspects  of  human  experience,  and  that  therefore  they 
may  possibly  possess  the  inherent  right  to  exist."  — 
From  the  Pre/ace. 

"  The  verse  of  Mr.  Winter  is  dedicated  mainly  to 
love  and  wine,  to  flowers  and  birds  and  dreams,  to  the 
hackneyed  and  never-to-be-exhausted  repertory  of  the 
old  singers.  His  instincts  are  strongly  conservative;  his 
confessed  aim  is  to  belong  to  '  that  old  school  of  English 
Lyrical  Poetry,  of  which  gentleness  is  the  soul,  and 
simplicity  the  garment.'  " —  Saturday  Review. 

"  The  poems  have  a  singular  charm  in  their  graceful 
spontaneity."  —  Scots  Olneriier. 

"  Free  from  cant  and  rant  —  clear  cut  as  a  cameo, 
pellucid  as  a  mountain  brook.  It  may  be  derided  as 
trite,  borne,  uninipassioncd;  but  in  its  own  modest 
sphere  it  is,  to  our  thinking,  extraordinarily  successful, 
and  satisfies  us  far  more  than  the  pretentious  mouthing 
which  receives  the  seal  of  over-hasty  approbation."  — 
Athcitcenm. 

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the  conditions  under  which  his  genius  is  exer- 
cised. While  the  impression  it  makes  is  often 
'more  vivid  and  inspiring  for  the  moment  than 
that  of  the  poet  and  the  painter,  it  vanishes  almost 
with  the  occasion  which  gave  it  birth,  and  lives 
only  as  a  tradition  in  the  memory  of  those  to 
whom  it  had  immediately  appealed.  'Shadows 
they  are,  and  shadows  they  pursue.' 

"  The  writer,  therefore,  who,  gifted  with  insight 
and  a  poetic  enthusiasm  which  enables  him  to 
discern  on  the  one  hand  the  beauties  in  a  dra- 
matic work  not  perceived  by  the  many,  and  on  the 
other  the  qualities  in  the  actor  which  have  made 
him  a  true  interpreter  of  the  poet's  thought,  at 
the  same  time  possessing  the  faculty  of  revealing 
to  us  felicitously  the  one,  and  the  other  is  cer- 
tainly entitled  to  our  grateful  recognition. 

"  Such  a  writer  is  Mr.  William  Winter,  easily 
the  first,  —  for  we  know  of  none  other  living  in 
this  country,  or  in  the  England  he  loves  so  much, 
in  whose  nature  the  critic's  vision  is  united  with 
that  of  the  poet  so  harmoniously.  .  .  . 

"  Over  and  above  all  this,  there  is  in  these  writ- 
ings the  same  charm  of  style,  poetic  glamour  and 
flavor  of  personality  which  distinguish  whatever 
comes  to  us  from  Mr.  Winter's  pen,  and  which 
make  them  unique  in  our  literature."  —  Home 
Journal,  New  York. 


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OLD  SHRINES  AND  IVY. 

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CONTENTS. 

SHRINES   OF  HISTORY. 
I.    Storied  Southampton. 
II.    Pageantry  and  Relics. 

III.  The  Shakespeare  Church. 

IV.  A  Stratford  Chronicle. 
V.    From  London  to  Dover. 

VI.  Beauties  of  France. 

VII.  Ely  and  its  Cathedral. 

VIII.  From  Edinburgh  to  Inverness. 

IX.  The  Field  of  Culloden. 

X.  Stormbound  lona. 

SHRINES   OF  LITERATURE. 
XI     The  Forest  of  Arden  :   As  You  Like  It. 
XII.    FairyLand:  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

XIII.  Will  0'  the  Wisp:  Love's  Labour  Lost. 

XIV.  Shakespeare's  Shrew. 

XV.  A  Mad  World:  Anthony  and  Cleopatra. 

XVI.  Sheridan,  and  the  School  for  Scandal. 

XVII.  Farquhar,  and  the  Inconstant. 

XVIll.  Longfellow. 

XIX.  A  Thought  on  Cooper's  Novels. 

XX.  A  Man  of  Letters:  John  R.  G.  Hassard. 

"  Whatever  Willi.Tin  Winter  writes  is  mnrked  by  felic- 
ity of  diction  and  by  refinement  of  style,  as  well  as  by 
the  evidence  of  cultnre  and  wide  reading.  '  Old  Shrines 
and  Ivy'  is  an  excellent  example  of  the  charm  of  his 
work."  —  Boston  Courier. 


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associations  of  that  delightful  realm,  to  afford  sympa- 
thetic guidance  and  useful  suggestion  to  other  Ameri- 
can travellers  who,  like  himself,  might  be  attracted  to 
roam  among  the  shrines  of  the  mother-land.  Tempera- 
ment is  the  explanation  of  style;  and  he  has  written 
thus  of  England  because  she  has  filled  his  mind  with 
beauty  and  his  heart  with  mingled  joy  and  sadness; 
and  surely  some  memory  of  her  venerable  ruins,  her 
ancient  shrines,  her  rustic  glens,  her  gleaming  rivers, 
and  her  flower-spangled  meadows  will  mingle  with  the 
last  thoughts  that  glimmer  through  his  brain  when  the 
shadows  of  the  eternal  night  are  falling  and  the  ramble 
of  life  is  done."  —  From  the  Preface. 

"  He  offers  something  more  than  guidance  to  the 
American  traveller.  He  is  a  convincing  and  eloquent 
interpreter  of  the  august  memories  and  venerable  sanc- 
tities of  the  old  country."  —  Saturday  Review. 

"  The  book  is  delightful  reading."  —  Scribner\ 
monthly. 

"  Enthusiastic  and  yet  keenly  critical  notes  and  com 
ments  on  English  life  and  scenery."  —  Scotsman. 


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Haunted  Glens  and  Houses. 
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The  Lakes  and  Fells  of  Wordsworth. 
Shakespeare  Relics  at  Worcester. 

Byron  and  Hucknall  Torkard. 

Historic  Nooks  and  Corners. 
Up  and  Down  the  Avon.  Shakespeare's  Town 

Rambles  in  .'\rden. 

The  Stratford  Fountain. 
Bosworth  Field. 

The  Home  of  Dr.  Johnson. 
From  London  to  Edinburgh. 
Into  the  Highlands. 

Highland  Beauties. 

The  Heart  of  Scotland. 
Elegiac  Memorials.  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Scottish  Pictures. 

Imperial  Ruins. 

The  Land  of  Marmion. 

At  Vesper  Time. 

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.American  wanderer  in  the  British  Isles,  and  to  the  gold 
of  thought  and  fancy  that  can  be  found  there. 


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PRESS    NOTICES. 

"Mr.  Winter's  graceful  and  meditative  style  in  his 
English  sketches  has  recommended  his  earlier  volume 
upon  (Shakespeare's)  England  to  many  readers,  who 
will  not  need  urging  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  this 
companion  book,  in  which  the  traveller  guides  us 
through  the  quiet  and  romantic  scenery  of  the  mother- 
country  with  a  mingled  affection  and  sentiment^  of 
which  we  have  had  no  example  since  Irving's  day."  — 
The  Nation. 

"  As  friendly  and  good-humoured  a  book  on  English 
scenes  as  any  American  has  written  since  Washington 
Irving." — Daily  Neivs,  London. 

"  Much  that  is  bright  and  best  in  our  literature  is 
brought  once  more  to  our  dulled  memories.  Indeed, 
we  know  of  but  few  volumes  containing  so  much  of 
observation,  kindly  comment,  philosophy,  and  artistic 
weight  as  this  unpretentious  little  book." — Chicago 
Herald. 

"  They  who  have  never  visited  the  scenes  which  Mr. 
Winter  so  charmingly  describes  will  be  eager  to  do  so 
in  order  to  realize  his  fine  descriptions  of  them,  and  they 
who  have  already  visited  them  will  be  incited  by  his 
eloquent  recital  of  their  attractions  to  repeat  their 
former  pleasant  experiences."  —  Public  Ledger, 
Philadelphia. 


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"A  delightful  litllc  work,  telling  in  a  most  cliarni- 
ingly  rambling  yet  systematic  way  what  is  to  be  seen 
of  interest  in  England."  —  Chicago  'I'inies. 

"  The  book  makes  an  entertaining  and  useful  com- 
panion for  travellers  in  England." — Boston  Herald. 

Amiel's  Journal. 

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and  Notes.     With  a  Portrait. 

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works." —CA  K  rch  in  a  n. 

"  A  work  of  wonderful  beauty,  depth,  and  charm. 
.  .  .  Will  stand  beside  such  confessions  as  St.  Augus- 
tine's and  Pa.scal's.  ...  It  is  a  book  to  converse  with 
again  and  again  ;  fit  to  stand  among  the  choicest 
volumes  that  we  esteem  as  friends  of  our  souls."— 
Christian  Register. 


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